The Killer In You
by CoffeeEyes
Summary: When Stiles finds Derek's deepest secret, Derek tries to kill him and ends up behind bars. A year later, a new threat has returned to Beacon Hills, and it seems like everything keeps leading back to Derek Hale.
1. I Keep A Book Of The Names

**_I Keep A Book Of The Names_**

* * *

It all starts on a seemingly normal Friday night.

Stiles walks into Derek's house (friendship far past the point of knocking) and calls out his name a couple of times, only to be met by silence. He sighs - Derek must have forgotten that they were meeting up - and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. "Hey man, where are you?" Stiles asks, pacing back in forth in Derek's living room now, after Derek answers, sounding grumpy (like usual.)

"Sorry, I got caught up," Derek replies shortly. He must be in the middle of something. "Go ahead and make yourself at home. I should be there within the hour."

Stiles glances up at the new clock hanging on the living room wall. It reads 4:10. He sighs, "Do you have food?"

He can practically hear Derek rolling his eyes, "Foods in the kitchen. I'll be there by five." And then there's a click and silence.

Stiles shoves his phone back in his pocket and makes his way to the kitchen. Derek has been working on refurnishing the house (the living room is completely done) and the kitchen should be good as new in the next week or so. Stiles smiles when the lights actually turn on when he flips the switch and he grabs himself a muffin from the finished half of the counter before heading back to the living room.

In Stiles' defense, he doesn't mean for it to happen.

But then again, he's never really gotten the chance to look around the Hale residence on his own. He wouldn't call it snooping, really. If he were snooping, it would imply that he was actually looking for something or sneaking around. It can't count as snooping if he's just looking through the stuff that's already in front of him. Right?

Either way, Stiles finds himself walking aimlessly around the living room, his fingers running over the slightly dusty new leather couch and TV set. Derek obviously doesn't use it much, mostly just when he has people over. Which still isn't very often, even though he gets along with Stiles and most of his friends pretty well by now.

Stiles finds himself standing in front of the newest addition to Derek's living room: his bookshelf. It's actually pretty full. The top couple of rows are older fiction novels that Derek must have had since he was in middle school, judging by the way the spines are cracked with use. Even though the shelf is relatively new, Stiles can tell that they haven't been picked up or read in ages. The lower shelves are the books that Derek uses on a fairly regular basis. (One on lycanthropy, a couple of old bestiaries, old Latin books, even a book about basic first aid, which Stiles made him buy _for the humans in the pack, Derek._) They're all quite familiar looking books to Stiles as he runs his fingers over the pages, save for one, which he comes to a stop at. A Bible.

(Once again, in Stiles' defense, he doesn't mean for it to happen. He _is not_ snooping.)

But Stiles finds himself wondering why Derek has a Bible - he's never come across as a very religious person - and his finger lingers on it. He's not sure why he's so curious about it - maybe it's the little lingering kind-of crush he's had on Derek since he met him, or maybe it's because Derek never really shares much about himself - but then Stiles finds himself pulling the book slightly out of its place until it's dropping softly into his hand. He doesn't know what he thinks he's going to find (maybe Derek highlights or underlines the passages that he likes the most) but he can't stop himself from opening the book once it's in his hands.

And then he's not sure if he regrets it or not.

It's definitely a Bible - or at least it used to be - but that's not what it's used for anymore. The first half of the book is normal as he flips quickly through the pages, unmarked and seemingly normal, until he gets to the center of the book. It's cut out in the middle - much like someone would cut the center out of a dictionary or any other book to hide drugs or money or whatever - and in the center of Derek's Bible, is a smaller, leather, unmarked book.

Okay, _now_ Stiles is snooping.

He knows he should close the Bible and forget he ever saw it - move on and eat some food and watch TV and wait for Derek to get home - but he can't stop himself once he starts pulling the hidden book out. He replaces the Bible and makes himself at home on Derek's couch, the small leather book in his hands.

"You're going to Hell, Stiles," He mumbles to himself, and then he opens it.

He immediately recognizes it as a journal. The first page is headlined with _October 21st_ and it is definitely in Derek's handwriting, talking about Laura and New York and how much he misses his family. Stiles feels terrible for reading it (it's a_ journal_, it's supposed to be private) but once he starts, he can't stop.

His eyes just scan over the first ten or so pages, which range from October to January and it's somewhat boring (maybe Stiles had expected too much excitement from Derek) until he gets to January 25th. There's no mistaking Derek's neat handwriting on the first line, spelling out, "_I killed today_."

If there was a line, Stiles had definitely crossed it. He swallows hard as he keeps reading, despite his better judgement.

"_I didn't mean to. Laura doesn't know. I sincerely hope she never finds out._"

That's the end of January 25th. No more details other than those three sentences. Stiles knows he should put the book away at that - put it away and forget he ever read it - but he can't. He flips forward a couple of pages.

"_February 5th,_

_An arsonist moved in down the street. He was pronounced dead this morning. The police found him in his bedroom and are calling it an animal attack. I'd like to see them try to explain an animal like that in New York City."_

Stiles swallows hard, flipping to another page.

"_February 10th_

_Killed again. He deserved it."_

He feels his heart rate quicken at the words, scribbled neatly in Derek's handwriting - how could someone _deserve _it? - then flips forward. And the journal quickly turns from a boring account of Derek's life in New York to a list of the people he killed while there. Sometimes he just writes their names. Sometimes it's just "killed again" and sometimes - Stiles feels sick - he'll write about the details.

He flips faster. There's page after page - some names he recognizes from cold cases, even in California – of accounts of Derek's murders.

Then he sees Laura's name again. He pauses at that page.

"_Laura is dead. I snapped. I shouldn't have. I'm alone now. I have nobody. My sister is dead and it's all my fault."_

Stiles shivers. _So they were right_. Derek Hale killed his sister. They were right all along. They were -

He feels like he's going to be sick.

He flips forward a few pages with shaky hands. Derek hasn't written much since then, but one thing does catch Stiles' eye.

Allison's school schedule. And on top of it, her father's work schedule. On the next page, Stiles finds his own school schedule, as well as Scott's. And his father's work schedule. As well as addresses and phone numbers.

Normally, Stiles would brush it off as Derek being weird, socially awkward, anything. A sad excuse for an address book._ Now_, though, now that he's seen inside of Derek's mind, he can't help but draw conclusions. He's keeping tabs on them.

This time, Stiles does get sick. He runs to the bathroom and throws up, his entire body shaking and convulsing. His skin is covered in a thin sheet of sweat once he's done and he feels clammy. Numb.

His legs somehow manage to carry him back into the living room and before he realizes what he's doing, he's grabbing that small leather book again, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, and heading out the front door, slamming it behind himself. It's a little after four-thirty. Derek should be getting home soon, and Stiles does _not_ want to be there when that happens. There's only one thought ringing out in his head as he starts the jeep and pulls away from the Hale residence.

_Tell Dad._

Once he's regained a little bit of composure - it takes until he's back on the main road, almost halfway home - he pulls out his phone and dials his dad's number. "Hey Stiles," He answers after a couple of rings, "What's up? I thought you were supposed to be studying with Scott after school."

_A lie_. A lie to be able to go to Derek's house without his father knowing. A lie, much like the majority of things he tells his dad because of the stupid messes he gets himself into._  
_

Stiles swallows hard. "Dad, I need you to come home."

He sighs loud enough on the other end for Stiles to hear, "I'm working, Stiles, I can't just drop that."

"_Please_," Stiles practically whimpers, his voice even cracking.

The Sheriff seems to hear the desperation in his son's voice, "What's going on?"

Stiles swallows hard, "I - I don't know."

"Stiles-"

"It has to do with Derek Hale!" Stiles finally shouts, actually startling himself with the volume of his own voice.

"What?" His dad spits on the other end, "I specifically told you to stay away from-"

"I know," Stiles cuts him off.

"If this is another ridiculous idea that you and Scott came up with, I swear-"

"It's not, Dad. Just… Please," Stiles tries one last time, heart hammering in his chest because _what if his dad doesn't believe him? _He tries not to imagine having to sit in his house alone all night with Derek's journal - which he's sure Derek will figure out that he has - only for Derek to come over and want it back. And Derek's killed before… Well…

He doesn't let himself finish that thought.

"Fine," He father replies after a long moment, snapping Stiles out of his morbid thoughts, "I just need to finish up some paperwork and I'll be on my way. Alright?"

Stiles swallows, throat suddenly dry, "Alright."

Stiles gets to his house within ten minutes of getting off of the phone with his dad. He immediately locks the door behind himself, then goes to work making sure all of the doors and windows are locked, ending in his bedroom. He lets out a deep sigh of relief when he gets to his room, too, because for once, there isn't a werewolf sitting in there waiting for him.

Stiles tosses his backpack and jacket onto his bed - making sure that he keeps the journal in his hands - then heads downstairs, trying not to wonder if Derek has gotten home yet. Trying not to wonder if he's noticed what's missing yet. He hasn't called yet, wondering where Stiles is, though, so he takes that as a good thing.

As he sits on the couch, waiting for his dad to get home, Stiles quickly comes to the realization that in the journal - the one that he's still gripping onto for dear life - Derek doesn't just mention killing, he also mentions his family, and the Argents, and the fact that the Hale's are, well… Werewolves. Stiles starts to get nervous at that. He's spent almost two years now, actively trying to keep his father in the dark about that part of his life and now, if he wants to see Derek go to jail for the awful things he's done (he definitely does), he's going to have to be completely, one hundred percent honest with his dad for the first time in a long while.

_Scott should probably be here for this._

Stiles searches his pockets for a moment for his phone and realizes that he must have left it in his coat pocket. Upstairs. On his bed. Of course. He sighs, and though he doesn't want to leave his safe spot on the couch in the living room, he stands, journal still in hand, and heads upstairs, telling himself that this will be a lot easier if Scott (and maybe his mom, too) was here to help explain things.

His eyes are trained on the floor when he pushes the door to his bedroom back open again, which is why Stiles is startled (okay more than startled, he definitely screams a little) when he looks up and sees the dark figure in the corner of his room.

_Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck._

Stiles gulps, clasping his hands - and the journal - behind his back. "Uh… Hey man."

"I'm not an idiot, Stiles," Derek's voice growls out as he steps forward slightly, "I know you have it."

Stiles doesn't say anything at that. What is he supposed to say? _Oh yeah, I found your journal where you wrote in detail about every person you've killed including but not limited to your sister and a small handful of cases that my dad has worked on._ Right. That wouldn't work. What could Stiles possibly say to make Derek stop stalking out of the corner of his room like that?

"So, what? That's it? You're going to kill me now?" The words tumble out of Stiles' mouth when he catches a glance of Derek's claws out of the corner of his eyes.

Derek shrugs, still slowly - ever so slowly - closing the distance between them. Stiles takes a couple of steps backward, back toward the doorway. "You really haven't left me any choice."

"Jesus," Stiles mutters. Not really the answer he was looking for. He swallows hard._ Come on, Stilinski, you can talk yourself out of this. You've done it a million times. Just… talk…_

"You've saved my life a million times," Stiles blurts out, which surprisingly causes Derek's step to falter. _Good._ "From Peter, and the kanima…" He swallows, "And Scott. You've saved him too. You really want to do this? You won't have anyone, Derek. Let me help you. I've saved your ass a couple of times too, remember?"

Stiles feels his back hit the door frame. He's still backing up, stumbling against the wall, and Derek is still stalking forward, eyes dark. "I don't have a choice, Stiles," He replies, and then he's almost within arm's length. Derek's words from months ago - _I don't trust you_ - ring out in Stiles' head and it all sort of all hits him then. Derek_ doesn't_ trust him. He never has. He has nothing to lose by killing him. Just someone to talk to every once in a while. Just a kid to do research when he doesn't feel like it. Derek doesn't _need_ him.

Stiles immediately starts pleading. Frantic. "Derek please, just stop, think about what you're doing. I'll give it back, I won't tell anyone. I'll forget I ever read it, I-"

It happens in a split second. One moment, Derek is in front of him, body pulled tight like a spring, and the next, he's right in front of Stiles' face, one hand on his shoulder, holding him still and the other one… The other one is thrusting forward, claws digging deep into Stiles' abdomen like he's done it a million times. (He probably has.) Stiles' words and his thoughts are cut short by the curling, searing pain in his stomach and all he can do is look up at Derek's - his killer's - dark, red eyes.

His life doesn't flash before his eyes, necessarily, but the main thought that makes its way to the forefront of his mind beside_ painpainpain_ is of his father. Of how he doesn't deserve to come home to find him like this. Of how he's never deserved the shit that has been constantly thrown at him. Despite the fact that it's getting harder and harder for Stiles to breathe, let alone think, he finds himself hoping that Derek leaves before his dad gets home. That he at least spares him that.

Stiles is on the ground now, Derek's hands still on him, guiding him there. His eyes, though blinking through tears and fuzzy, white pain, can make out the pooling red liquid on the hardwood floor of his room. _Blood_. His own blood. His head is spinning. And then-

"Stiles?"

His mind doesn't really register the voice calling his name, not behind the jumbled mess of blood and pain and Derek, but Derek apparently catches it, tensing around Stiles at the sound. Stiles cries out at the pain of it - did the hand inside of him just clench into a fist? - and squeezes his eyes shut, almost willing it to be over. At least it would be better than the pain.

"Stiles?!" The faint voice is more frantic now, closer. Stiles screams again, voice rough and harsh, at the feeling of the hand drawing out of his abdomen when Derek stands.

"_Step away from him."_

Stiles mind barely registers the voice of his father giving the order, but he does, and with his last bit of strength, Stiles opens his eyes long enough to see his dad stepping into the bedroom, pointing his gun at Derek Hale and-

And then everything goes black.

* * *

**AN:** _I'm REALLY excited about this fic! I've been working on it for quite a while now, and I hope you guys like it as much as I do._

_Chapter title is from the song "I Never Told You What I Do For A Living" by My Chemical Romance  
The title of the fic is from "Disarm" by The Smashing Pumpkins._

_(I'll probably make a playlist for this once it's over)_


	2. Walls Around Your Mind

**_Walls Around Your Mind Can't Keep You Safe_**

* * *

_Flowers that once made you smile  
Have turned to stone now they're grinding down your teeth._

_Walls around your mind can't keep you safe,  
Build them up with steel and stone and watch your soul escape.  
Get through today and know that you are secure.  
Get a grasp on the fact that this is what you're here for._

_You can quake at the thought of it.  
Shakes you up quite a bit_

* * *

Derek Hale doesn't go to prison.

After a trial, which Stiles doesn't have to go to, due to still being in the hospital, and his father insisting that he's too traumatized to go, Derek is found guilty, but also mentally ill. Apparently the Hale family had a decent lawyer, not to mention a lot of the _werewolf_ things in his journal made him look crazy, and instead of going to prison, he's admitted to the high security mental hospital wing that's attached to it.

Sheriff Stilinski is enraged, but Stiles assures him that it'll be okay. _At least he's locked away somewhere. Somewhere with metal bars_, Stiles mentally reminds himself, almost wishing that his father would have shot Derek when he got the chance.

Which is another thing all together.

When Stiles wakes up, he doesn't remember much of the attack, having blacked out from the pain. But he does remember his dad's voice, and finds himself wondering what stopped Derek from attacking him. If he didn't value Stiles enough to spare his life, why would he spare his dad?

"I've known for a while," Sheriff Stilinski tells him, when Stiles finally voices his concern and confusion.

"Known what, exactly?" Stiles asks, cocking his head to the side.

"About the Hales," He replies, gauging his son's face for a response to the name. There's a little wince, but other than that, Stiles' expression remains mostly unchanged. He's trying to be strong, like usual. "And about Scott..." He clarifies.

"_What_?" Stiles spits, his eyes widening comically, "How? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Melissa McCall," He replies carefully, "She figured I knew and when I didn't, she filled me in." He chuckles a little to himself, "Didn't believe her at first. Actually, I thought she was crazy, but it all started to make sense..."

"Jesus... How long have you known?" Stiles asks, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his father has known the one thing that he'd been trying to keep from him for over a year now.

"Since she knew," He replies honestly.

Stiles shakes his head, "I'm an idiot."

"You were just trying to keep me safe," He replies, smiling fondly.

* * *

A year later, things are much, much different.

It might have escalated quicker if Derek Hale had been around - if there still would have been an alpha in Beacon Hills - but he's not there, nobody even speaks about him, and there is no alpha.

* * *

Stiles is a senior in high school a year later. Things are hard for him when he first goes back to school after the incident, but he manages.

None of his friends will say it, but he's never really the same.

He's still Stiles - he still doesn't pay much attention in class and sometimes talks too much and isn't all that great at lacrosse and has a little too much energy - but he's different. He doesn't involve himself in the werewolf part of Scott's life as much - or at all - anymore. In fact, he stays as far away from it as possible. Whether it's subconsciously or by his own choice, nobody really knows, but they don't question it. They understand. And that's hard for Scott at first, because he's so used to having Stiles as his trusty human sidekick, but he respects him enough not to pry and not to push it.

He doesn't talk about that night, either. He doesn't tell his friends about what he read in that journal. Maybe it's part of him keeping his promise to Derek, (_I won't tell anyone_) or maybe he just doesn't want to open that door back up. Either way, the only person close to him who knows what he read is his father, and even _they_ don't talk about it.

And Stiles knows that his dad keeps the wolf's bane bullets - the only reason that Derek Hale surrendered to him in the first place - but he doesn't ask him about it. He can't.

So a year later, everything is different. _Stiles_ is different. He's grown up quite a bit, if anything.

But most importantly, a year later, a couple of people are killed out in the woods. They call them animal attacks, but Stiles knows better. So does his dad, and so do his friends. The attacks happen a few weeks apart, but the bodies are almost identical.

"It really could have just been an animal this time," Stiles says, as if he's trying to reassure himself as he sits down at lunch with Scott the day after it happens. Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows they're a lie. When has an "animal attack" in Beacon Hills _really_ been an animal attack?

Then again, those were all Derek and Peter and they're gone now and...

Stiles shakes the thought from his head. The scar on his stomach scratches against his shirt.

"Stiles…" Scott starts, careful not to upset him.

He sighs, "It wasn't an animal, was it?"

"It wasn't," Scott confirms, and he just sounds too sure.

"How do you know?" Stiles asks, suddenly feeling numb. His appetite is gone.

"I saw the claw marks. They're the same as before," Scott replies. He normally doesn't talk this much about these kinds of things, but Stiles _did_ ask, and to be honest, Scott misses talking to him about this part of his life.

"And how did you _see_ the claw marks?" Stiles asks, throat dry.

Scott clears his throat. "I uh... I kind of snuck into the morgue and looked."

And though Stiles doesn't like where the conversation is heading - he really wants _nothing_ to do with werewolves - he can't help the way his lips quirk up into a little smile, "Isn't that supposed to be _my_ job?"

It's a joke, it really is. Stiles is just teasing his friend, but by the way Scott awkwardly opens and closes his mouth like he doesn't know what to say, he obviously doesn't get the humor in it. Sometimes Stiles wonders if Scott is more sensitive about the subject than he is.

"I'm just kidding, man," Stiles assures him, smiling.

Scott shakes his head quickly, "Right. Yeah, I know."

"So uh... Who do you think it is?" Stiles asks, the atmosphere suddenly heavy again, "I mean, besides you... Boyd, Erica and Isaac are the only werewolves in Beacon Hills."

"That we know of," Scott mutters before he even has a chance to think about it. He immediately snaps his mouth shut, as if he's said too much, scared that he's hit a sensitive subject with Stiles.

But despite the ache in his gut at the thought of the poor - probably innocent - people that died in the woods, and the fact that there might be a new threat lurking out there, Stiles ignores it and continues the conversation.

_It's been a year, damn it. Get over it._

He's sure that it's self deprecating and probably says a lot about how he deals with traumatic situations, (as his therapist would say) but Stiles swallows down the lump in his throat and forces himself to deal with it. Because it _has_ been a year. He needs to move on. Right?

If he had more time to analyze it, he'd say he's acting the way he is because he's been forced to grow up pretty quickly at a young age, but he tries not to think about it.

_It's been a year._

"So you think there's a new werewolf here?" He asks, forcing himself to eat a little as he talks.

Scott eyes him before answering, and Stiles knows that he can probably see right through him. He's his best friend, for crying out loud, of course he can tell when he's bluffing - when he's really terrified even if he says he's not. But if he can tell, he doesn't call him out on it. He just watches him carefully for the better half of a minute before letting out a deep breath. "We think so."

Scott is a good friend. Sometimes he doesn't think he is. Sometimes, he beats himself up because of what happened to Stiles. Sometimes he'll sit in his room on the verge of tears, wondering if things would have been different if he had been there. He'll wonder if Stiles would have even found the journal if he had been there - if he had just come along for once, instead of spending time with Allison. Sometimes, Scott will catch a little look in Stiles' eyes when he thinks that nobody is looking - it's a pained, scared, unsure look - and Scott can't help but wonder if he could have done anything to prevent that. Scott beats himself up, but above everything, he's a good friend.

He knows right from the beginning - before Stiles even wakes up in the hospital - that things are going to be different. That no matter how strong Stiles claims that he is, there's only so much that one human can take, and he's already had enough pain. So Scott makes the conscious decision, before even knowing how Stiles is going to be when he wakes up, to keep the werewolf part of his life away from Stiles for the time being. For both their friendship, and for Stiles' sake.

Becuase no matter how brave and strong Stiles may come off as, he's still just a kid. And Scott knows that because he's a good friend.

So when the first body appears in the woods, he really hesitates before telling Stiles. He's sure that he already knows - he watches the news and his dad is a cop for heaven's sake - but he doubts that the sheriff will want to discuss it with him. Stiles' father is a good dad, but he's just as unsure about things as Stiles is sometimes.

Scott doesn't bring it up at first, but when a second hiker is killed, he feels like he needs to address it. At least to make sure that Stiles feels safe. Though Scott wishes his best friend was helping him out with it, he and Allison and Isaac have been out, trying to find the murderer, and he wants Stiles to know that he'll be okay.

"We're on it," He says reassuringly as he walks Stiles to his next class.

Stiles _wants_ to say something about not needing a babysitter, but he can't deny that it's nice to know that his friends are looking out for him. "Good," He replies, flashing Scott a smile, and then he's turning into his class without another word.

* * *

A third body is found a week later. Same claw marks, different part of the woods, and the victim had gone missing from their _home_, which was suspiciously _not_ located in the woods. They hadn't been a hiker like the other two.

To anyone else, it would seem absurd that an _animal_ would take someone out of the second story of their home only to drag them into the woods and kill them. To Scott (and his friends the sheriff and _Stiles_) it doesn't sound weird at all.

To Stiles, it sounds like a warning. But he tells himself that he's just being paranoid.

Just to assure himself, though, he checks the news to make sure that nobody broke out of the mental hospital recently (especially anyone by the name of Derek Hale). Nobody has. Of course.

_Just paranoid._

Stiles keeps telling himself that, too, even when the fourth body is found.

He tries to keep telling himself that - despite the _old_ him begging him to go investigate it - until one Thursday afternoon before lacrosse practice.

"Very funny Stilinski," Coach Finstock opens with as Stiles and Scott walk into the locker room.

He stops and turns, "What did I do?"

"Oh playing dumb, how original," He says, faking a laugh, "Either way, you're staying and cleaning it up after practice."

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles insists, adding, "For once." That gets a chuckle out of Scott.

Finstock grabs his arm at that - Stiles resists the urge to jump at the sudden contact, another new reflex after the incident - and pulls him further into the locker room, so he can see his locker. Or well... His locker _and_ Scott's locker. "Don't play dumb. I found the paint can in your locker. So I reiterate, you're staying after practice." And then he's walking away as if he's proud of himself for the punishment.

Scott and Stiles, however, are speechless, staring at their lockers. Across both of the red doors in black paint is a simple symbol. One that Stiles has seen before. _Where did he see that, again_? It's a triangle in the center, big and covering the crack between their lockers, and three long spidery looking legs branching off of each corner. They stretch over each of the lockers, all the way across, linking them together.

"What the hell?" Scott breaths, confused.

Stiles is still staring forward, speechless, because he _knows_ that symbol. He knows it, but from where?

"What is it?" Scott asks, breaking the silence again.

_Then he remembers._

It was on Derek's front door. It was scribbled on a note pad that Derek had given him. He said that it had something to do with alpha packs and had asked Stiles to do some research on it for him. More importantly, it was the research that Stiles had been doing for Derek before he found the journal.

_Derek_.

Stiles feels dizzy.

Scott seems to notice (or sense it) because he's suddenly close to Stiles, holding him up, "You alright?"

"I know that symbol," Is all he manages to mutter.

* * *

"An _alpha_ pack?" Scott asks later, pacing back and forth in Stiles' room.

"An alpha pack," Stiles echoes.

"How is that even possible?" Scott is trying hard not to let his voice sound panicked, but he's sure that Stiles can see right through it, even without wolf senses.

"I never really got that part," Stiles says, rummaging around through his desk. "Here," He says, pulling his notebook out and handing it to Scott. It's right where he left it a year ago, untouched in the bottom of the drawer. Just the thought of opening it up and re-living what he was working on with _Derek_ makes his pulse spike.

"Hey," Scott says, voice soft. Stiles mentally curses himself for forgetting that Scott can practically smell his nerves. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to. This is more than enough help," He waves the notebook in the air, "Allison and I can take this and go from here. I don't want you to-"

"It's fine," Stiles says suddenly, cutting him off. His mouth feels like it's on overdrive when he talks, telling Scott that he wants to help. "I might as well finish what I started."

Scott eyes him warily, worried, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Stiles says, then smiles, attempting to lighten the mood, "Besides, you'd be lost without _me_ doing the research."

Scott laughs at that and agrees, which leads to them spending the next hour in Stiles' room, going over his old notes, learning (and re-learning what he had blocked out, in Stiles' case) as much as they can about alpha packs. They have a little bit to go off of, such as the fact that they never really reach more than five or so in size, as well as the fact that they're all usually relatively new alphas, looking for power. They usually leave the marking - the one on the lockers - as a sign letting another alpha know that they're challenging them, hence why the symbol had been painted onto Derek's door a year ago.

Why was it on their lockers, though? And why now?

"I'm not even an alpha," Scott groans, "I never asked for this..."

"I'm not even a _werewolf_," Stiles counters.

"You win," Scott replies without looking up. They both stare at the symbol for a few more minutes, wondering _why us_ (_why now_) before Scott sighs again, breaking the silence. "So... What do we do?"

"Find the angry alpha pack and explain that it's a big mistake?" Stiles offers, half jokingly.

"Really," Scott pushes.

Stiles lets out a deep breath at that, running his fingers through his hair, "I have no idea. I don't even know what they want. I mean, they've obviously got to _want_ something from us, right? They wouldn't just challenge you-"

"Us," Scott cuts in. It sends a pain to Stiles' gut.

"_Us_," Stiles corrects himself, "Without wanting something in return, right?"

"I guess," Scott sighs out, head in his hands, "But I have no idea..."

"We need more information," Stiles sighs.

Scott lets his head drop to the bed at that, "You can say that again."

When Scott leaves that night after eating dinner with Stiles and his dad, he doesn't mention that it feels good to be working together again, like they had over a year ago. He doesn't mention it, but by the way that Stiles looks at him before he shuts the door, it's like he can read his mind.

The fact of the matter is that they _do _need more information. Though Stiles' notebook _says _that alpha packs aren't too horribly big or common, it doesn't mean that the one they're dealing with isn't any less dangerous or deadly.

There's a little voice in the back of Stiles head, too, nagging at him that Derek would know. Derek _did_ know. The whole reason Stiles was meeting him at his house that awful day a year ago was because Derek had been tracking the alpha pack. He had a pretty good idea how many werewolves were in the pack and what they all looked like. Stiles never got that information, however, and it stayed safe and sound, locked away in Derek's head.

That wasn't an issue, however, because as soon as Derek _was_ locked up, the problem of the alpha pack seemed to disappear and Stiles had forgotten about it pretty quickly.

_Until now._

What did they want from them?

_Them_, because the symbol wasn't just painted on Scott's locker. No, it was clearly intended for the both of them. And Stiles can't help but wonder what an alpha pack could possibly want with a human. A human, that they could kill in an instant, if they wanted to.

Stiles and Scott research it. They try to find any information they can on alpha packs, but just as Stiles had suspected - yet didn't voice - he has all the information that they're going to find written down. The only way they're going to find anything else was if they were to actually _see _the alpha pack. And they hadn't. The only person who has any idea who they are had tried to _kill_ Stiles, and was locked away for good.

For a split second Stiles finds himself toying with the thought that if Derek were still around, he'd know how to fix things. He immediately shakes it away, though, and then that thought is covered up with _he'd also kill you._

Just the thought of that sends a pain to his stomach. He's suddenly very aware of the scar, scratching at the fabric of his shirt.

* * *

There's another killing a week later. It comes as no surprise to Stiles and Scott. What _is_ a surprise, though, is the fact that it's a police officer. In fact, that sort of terrifies everyone. Stiles knows that it's the alpha pack, and when he sees his dad with a cup of coffee, worrying over the _five _cases now, trying to piece them together, he toys with the idea of telling him about the information that he has. He doesn't want to worry him, though - doesn't want him knowing that he's been working on it too, at least not yet - so he decides against it.

In fact, he holds his tongue for almost another week.

Until he gets home from school one afternoon with Scott - they're planning on _attempting_ to do some more research - and sees it. Scott's the one to point it out as they climb out of the jeep. "Dude, what's on your door?" He asks it lightly, squinting to look because he can't make out if it's graffiti or-

Suddenly, it hits them both at once. There's something spray painted onto Stiles' front door and without even being close, they both know what it is.

"Should we..." Scott starts, looking up at Stiles' house.

"Do you smell anyone?" Stiles asks, feeling numb.

Scott inhales, eyes closed for a moment, before shaking his head, "Nothing."

They make a mad dash for the door - Stiles tries to ignore the marking screaming at him as he opens it - and as soon as they're inside, he's dialing his dad's number, telling him to come home _now_. He doesn't question it like he had when Stiles had called him about Derek, he just tells him that he'll be there soon, to lock the doors, and to stay put.

Nothing happens, thank God, and Sheriff Stilinski is pulling up to the house within ten minutes, lights flashing bright on top of the police car.

"Tell me everything you know," He says, all seriousness and narrowed eyes to his son, when Stiles tells him that he's seen the symbol before.

Stiles really doesn't want to tell his father about the alpha pack - much like he didn't want to tell him about _werewolves _- but he caves, pulling out his notebook, hoping that with his father on his side, they'll be a little bit safer. Stiles knows, though he doesn't ask about it, that his father has become decent friends with Chris Argent in the past year, and had long sense stopped questioning the wolf's bane bullets and illegal weapons that the hunter had lent to him.

He doesn't want to tell him about the alpha pack, but he feels a little better in doing so, knowing that his father is at least educated about it by now. "I'll have to tell Chris, you know," The sheriff says finally, as he finishes looking over his son's through notes.

"I figured," Stiles replies.

"I _hate_ doing things this way, but we need all the help we can get," He adds.

"I know," Stiles sighs out.

His dad is reaching across the table at that, grabbing one of Stiles' hands and smiling softly at him, "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles swallows hard, part of him hoping that this isn't going to get sappy and emotional. He's not too sure if he can hold it together if that happens. "For what?"

"For showing me this," He says, lifting the notebook a little. He seems to sense how tense his son is though, because he's suddenly trying to lighten the mood. "Your notes are really through," He says, grinning, "You know... You'd make a good police officer one day."

Stiles can't help but smile under the praise, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," He assures, "If that's what you want."

Suddenly, the compliment reminds him of something. Of sitting in his dad's office with him over a year ago, helping him with Matt's case - the murders - and how he and Scott had helped him figure everything out. He glances at Scott, who is sitting quietly in the living room, then back to his father, "Hey dad, do you have the files with you? For the murders?"

He eyes Stiles for a moment, trying to figure out what he's thinking. "Yeah, in the car."

"Can I see them?" He knows he's getting a little ahead of himself, but he can't help it.

"What are you getting at here?" He asks, even as he stands.

Scott is looking on from the living room, probably wondering the same thing. "Maybe they're connected," Stiles explains, "The murders. Remember when we put all of the pieces together with Matt? Maybe it's the same thing here. Maybe it's all connected and we're just not seeing it yet."

"And even if we find the connection?" Scott pipes up, standing and joining them in the kitchen.

"Then maybe we'll find out what the alpha pack wants?" He supplies, glancing at Scott, then back to his dad.

Surprisingly, that's all it takes to convince him.

Within an hour, the three of them are crowded around the kitchen table, papers scattered everywhere, Stiles' laptop sitting on a chair next to them. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were a few steps away from pinning the papers and pictures on the wall and making connections with red string like they do in movies. Almost.

So far, the only connections they have are that all of the bodies were found within five miles of one another, they were all around the same age group - except for one - and they all lived in Beacon Hills - except for one of them. Two of them were joggers that had been killed out in the woods, one was an English teacher at the middle school (she had been taken from her house), then there was the police officer, and the last one was a med student, who had been visiting family in town.

Stiles heart aches as he looks at the photos of the people. He thinks of their families, of the people they left behind, of how they must feel. And he feels for the people in the photos because he knows how they must have felt in their final moments. Exactly how he felt, with claws buried deep into his stomach.

He shakes the memory away and instead decides to focus his attention on the police officer. He recognizes her. He's seen her around plenty of times when he's gone to the station to bring his dad dinner when he works late. She's always been kind to Stiles. She didn't deserve what she got. None of these people did.

"Why a cop?" Stiles wonders aloud. When his dad just glances at him, he continues, "Seriously, why her? It couldn't have been easy. She probably didn't go down without a fight. So why her?" Stiles is just thinking out loud, but it's a good question. What are they trying to prove?

For a fleeting moment, while staring at her picture, Stiles lets himself remember the time that Derek had distracted that very police officer so Stiles could sneak into the station. He shakes that thought away, too, in favor for picking up the med student's photo. He was young, mid twenties, like the cop. "Where was he going to school?" Stiles asks, though he's sure the answer won't bring him the revelation that he's looking for.

He dad shuffles a few papers around before replying, "Upstate New York." He grabs at another paper, "Albany, I believe."

"Isn't that where Derek and Laura lived?" Scott asks before even thinking about it. Both Stiles and his father flinch at the name, but then Stiles is actually grateful for Scott's lack of brain to mouth filter.

"Wasn't Laura in med school?" He asks, looking from Scott to his father.

"I don't know," He says, looking between the boys, "I'd have to get her file."

"And the teacher," Stiles says, his brain suddenly moving at a thousand miles an hour, "Where did she work?" He leans over to pick up the picture of the older woman.

"The middle school," His dad answers, still looking confused, "Stiles, what are you-"

"The only middle school in Beacon Hills, right? So it would be safe to say that Derek and Laura went there?" He asks, the name coming from his lips only making his stomach ache a little bit now.

"I suppose so, but-"

"We need to find out how the hikers are connected," Stiles says suddenly, cutting him off, "How did they know the Hales?"

"_Stiles_," His dad finally says, voice stern, shaking him out of his thoughts. When Stiles looks up at him, though, his face is soft, concerned. "I think this is enough for one night."

"But we're _just _finding connections," Stiles insists, raising his voice a little. He looks to Scott for help, but his friend just stands at the other end of the table wordlessly. Stiles can't tell if he just doesn't want to get involved or if he agrees with his father.

"_Maybe_," His dad replies, tone careful, "They _might_ be connected. We don't know. I'd have to look into it more at the station, just to be sure. But right now, I don't think it's good for you-"

"Don't tell me what's good for me," Stiles hisses through gritted teeth. He doesn't mean to get angry, but he can't help but be a little frustrated with the way that _everyone _has been tiptoeing around the subject of Derek, "I'm _fine_."

"_Stiles_," His father pleads quietly, "I know you want to get to the bottom of this, but I don't want you to draw conclusions, especially ones like this, before I look into it properly first. I don't want you worrying yourself."

_I've been worried since the first body was found_, Stiles thinks to himself, but he decides it's not best to voice that. He sighs, "Alright."

His dad sighs, "Thank you." He begins gathering up the papers as Stiles stares across the table at Scott.

"Where were you back there, man?" Stiles asks quietly as he walks Scott to the front door later.

Scott looks down, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry," He finally manages, "I just... I dunno, maybe he's right. You could just be worried because well... You know..." He doesn't say it, but Stiles knows that he's thinking that Stiles is unfit to be working on things, with his recent trauma and all.

"But you can't deny that there _is_ a connection," Stiles pushes, looking for some kind of confirmation. He just wants _someone_ to tell him that he's not being crazy.

"Maybe," Scott replies, "Let your dad do his research and then we'll figure it out, alright?"

Stiles sighs, knowing that's about as good of an answer that he's going to get, "Alright."

"Get some sleep man," Scott says, clapping a hand on Stiles shoulder, "You look like you could need it."

* * *

Stiles doesn't sleep.

In his defense, he tries, but wakes with a start at about two in the morning, thin sheet of sweat covering his body. His heart is racing and his breath is coming out in short bursts and if he closes his eyes, he can still see the red ones staring back at him behind his lids. He can still see Derek Hale's face, twisted up into an evil snarl, teeth bared, like a monster.

He doesn't even try to go back to sleep at that. Instead, he spends too much time lying in bed, wondering if he brought this upon himself, allowing his mind to wander to the Hale family too much in one day.

He drinks two cups of coffee before walking out the door for school the next morning. He knows he looks like hell - his dad gives him a sad look when he waves him on his way out - but he'll get through it. He's been through worse.

Thankfully, the day goes by without any complications, and before he knows it, Stiles is getting home and climbing in bed for a much needed nap. His dad isn't home for another two hours and he figures that if he rests a little before he gets home, maybe he'll be more willing to talk about the case with him.

Surprisingly, Stiles quickly falls into a deep sleep. He doesn't even wake up when his dad comes home and slams the door, and he doesn't wake up even when he calls his name softly up the stairs or when he pushes his door open with a creak to check on him. He does wake, however, from a nightmare, about an hour after his father gets home.

Same as the night before, Stiles refuses to try to close his eyes again for fear of seeing red ones staring back at him, so instead, he opts for making his way down the stairs. His stomach is growling and he hopes that dinner is being made.

He's about to call out to his dad, say hello since he's been home for a while, but stops the noise in his throat when he hears him say something about the alpha pack in the other room. Stiles freezes on the stairs and quickly realizes that he's on the phone - probably with Chris Argent - discussing the alpha pack and the five murders in the woods.

"That's what he said, yeah," His dad says, voice echoing from the kitchen over the noise of him setting a pan down. Stiles wishes he could hear the other end of the phone call, but this is better than nothing, "Yeah that was in his notes, too." He pauses for a moment, "No, he's sleeping right now. Yeah. Poor kid's exhausted." His dad sounds upset at that and Stiles feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

He's silent for a long moment and Stiles starts to worry that he's been caught. He almost continues walking down the stairs, but then his dad speaks again, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're connected."

Stiles freezes.

"I didn't think so at first. Stiles was the one to point it out actually," There's _almost_ a hint of pride in his voice at that, but then it lowers, when he adds, "I think it's connected to Derek Hale."

Suddenly, Stiles' throat is dry. His head is spinning and his legs feel weak and he feels as though he's just taken a punch to the gut. Thinking it himself was one thing - Stiles had been okay with being paranoid or crazy - but his dad, the _sheriff_, confirming it makes things very _very_ real. Derek is involved. Stiles knew it. _He knew it._

His ears are ringing, but he still picks up his father's voice when he starts talking again, "The teacher was Derek and Laura's English teacher and the kid from New York had gone to school with Laura. Andrea-" Stiles' recognizes the police officer's name, "went to school with Derek, as well as the two hikers. They're all connected. I tried everything, but it all just comes back to him."

_It always comes back to him_.

"I still can't figure out what they want, though," His dad continues, "It doesn't make sense. I'm sure they know that he's gone... I just wish they'd leave Stiles alone. He doesn't need this..." Chris says something on the other line that makes his dad sigh loudly and Stiles wishes he knew what it was before he hears him say, "Alright, talk to you later," and then he's hanging up the phone.

Instead of going downstairs to eat dinner like he had planned, Stiles retreats back to his room, heart hammering in his chest.

* * *

**AN: **_Chapter title and lyrics at the beginning are from "Quake" by Balance and Composure_


	3. A Haunting Reminder

_**A Haunting Reminder**_

* * *

He comes up with hundreds of ideas as to why the alpha pack is killing people that are connected to Derek Hale, but of course, Stiles can't be sure on any of them. There are plenty of reasonable explanations: they want revenge (maybe Derek hurt one of them a long time ago), they want to scare Derek's old pack into joining them, or even worse, they want to scare the other werewolves out to kill them, or they want to piss Derek off enough so he can escape.

No matter the reason, they're all awful. And no matter what, Stiles realizes that he'll never understand why - will never be able to understand the pattern, which means he'll never be able to help his dad and the Argents catch and kill the pack - unless he talks to Derek himself. If all of the murders are connected to him, he has to have some idea as to why they're happening. He has to know the pattern and a way to stop it.

Though Stiles hates Derek Hale (is terrified of him, actually) he'll admit that he's smart. He's always been smart. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't have been able to get away with all of those murders for so long. And there's no doubt in Stiles' mind that Derek could get to the bottom of things, if he hasn't already. He _did_ know who the alphas were, after all. Stiles is _sure_ that he knew their motive, as well.

For a split second, Stiles regrets ever snooping around Derek Hale's house. He regrets ever finding and reading and taking that journal. And for once, it's not because of what happened between him and Derek; it's because had he not intervened - had he not gotten in the way - Derek could have and would have eliminated the threat of the alpha pack.

Stiles knows it's wrong to think that way - Derek Hale is sick and deserves to be behind bars - but at the same time, his mind is just the one that they need right now. They're out of leads, after another week. Nobody - not even the Argents or their hunter friends - knows who the alphas are or where they're staying. They know that the killings are related to Derek Hale, but that's about as far as they've gotten. They still don't understand the message.

The thought is scratching at the back of Stiles' head for a week - annoying and persistent and it's like a ticking time bomb - but he manages to push it down. He manages not to think about it for a whole week, until there's another murder. And even _that_ manages not to set it off. What does, however, is a photo of the crime scene that Stiles sees a few days later.

"It was them again, wasn't it?" He asks, walking into the kitchen Wednesday night. His dad is sitting at the table with Chris Argent, going over the case. Stiles lets himself note for a moment how much his dad has changed in the past year. Before, he was wary about letting Stiles, _his own son_, get involved with his police work. Now, he's sitting at the table with their sketchy hunter neighbor and a beer, looking at photos of a crime scene as if it's an everyday occurrence.

He sighs, "Yeah... Though I really don't know if we're going to be able to brush this one off as an animal attack to the public..."

Stiles cocks his head, stepping toward the table. "Why?"

He goes to grab one of the photos, but his dad pulls it just out of his reach. "I don't think you should see this."

"Dad-" Stiles starts to argue, but surprisingly, Chris does it for him.

"He could help," He says, voice soft. He smiles reassuringly, "You never know. Just let him see."

His dad sighs at that, obviously outnumbered. "But if it's too much, you're not looking at any more," He says, even as he reluctantly hands him the photo.

"Dad it's-" He's about to say fine, he really is, but then Stiles is looking down at the photo in his hands and he's speechless. There's a man in the middle of a bedroom floor, face down in a pool of blood. And as if the amount of blood surrounding the body wasn't enough for Stiles - it reminds him of his own blood, hot and red and rushing onto his bedroom floor as he slumped to the ground - there's a message, painted out onto the bedroom wall in red. More blood.

_Get him._

Stiles swallows hard, and that's enough for his dad to snatch the photo out of his hands, shooting Chris an accusatory look. "I told you it was too much," He hisses.

"Who was the guy?" Stiles asks, mouth still dry. He's not even sure how he manages to speak.

"What?" His dad snaps, looking up at him.

"Who was he?" Stiles repeats, "How did he know..." He wants to say the name. It's easy - _Derek_ - but for the first time since the incident, he can't. It gets caught in his throat.

"He was an old friend of Peter Hale," Chris speaks up, looking pointedly at Stiles, "Derek's uncle."

As if Stiles needed reminding. Of course he remembers Peter Hale. He remembers the fear he felt around him too, much like the fear he felt around Derek right before he tried to kill him. Apparently they weren't so different after all.

"Getting anything?" Chris says, shaking Stiles out of his thoughts again and ignoring an angry look from his father.

Stiles shakes his head weakly, "No, sorry. I'm, uh... I'm going to go upstairs."

* * *

There's no way of knowing that the message was actually meant for him, but the thought of the alpha pack communicating with Stiles that way scares the crap out of him. And even though he really doesn't know, it brings that little nagging thought back to the forefront of Stiles' mind.

_You need Derek's help._

* * *

Friday afternoon rolls around - school is almost out - and Stiles has formulated a plan. To be honest, it's a _terrible, _awfully planned and probably near impossible plan, but it's a plan nonetheless. And he needs help. "Scott," Stiles whispers across the isle of their last class of the day, "I need to talk to you about something."

Scott tears his eyes away from their teacher for a moment, eyeing Stiles carefully. Maybe it's the nervousness he sees - or smells - or it's the look on Stiles' face, but either way, his eyebrows pull together in concern, "You alright?"

Stiles nods, almost too quickly, "Yeah. I just need to run an idea by you really quick."

Scott watches his face for a moment more, trying to read him, before nodding, "Alright. After class."

* * *

_"You want to do what?!"_ Scott all but screams outside of Stiles' Jeep a few minutes after they get out into the parking lot.

"Just hear me out-" Stiles attempts, but Scott is yelling again.

"This is the _dumbest _idea you've ever had, dude!" He shouts, now pacing back and forth, "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Scott-"

"If _he_ doesn't kill you, your dad will," Scott interrupts, "Unless of course, you get arrested first!"

"We," Stiles corrects quietly, eyes fixed on the ground.

"_WE?_" Scott echoes, eyes wide. He storms up to Stiles, apparently past the point of caring about making a scene or not.

Stiles shrugs, looking at the asphalt in order to avoid his best friends eyes, "Yeah, we. I'll need someone there for, ya know... Moral support."

"_Moral support_," Scott spits, "Do you have any idea how stupid this sounds?"

Stiles cracks a small smile and looks up at him, trying to ease the tension, "Yeah."

"Let me get this straight... You want to _impersonate a police officer_," Scott starts, voice lowered. He glances around before continuing, "You want to impersonate a police officer and visit the guy that _tried to kill you_ in prison, just because you think he _might_ be able to help?"

"I know he can," Stiles says, trying not to let Scott hear the way his voice wavers just thinking about seeing Derek again. He's honestly terrified of the idea of it, but if it will put a stop to the alpha pack and the murders, he's willing to take one for the team. It's to save lives. It's worth it. Or that's what he tells himself. "Besides," Stiles says, clearing his throat, "He's not _in_ the prison, he's in the mental hospital _next to_ the prison."

"Great, less security," Scott replies, sarcastic.

"It's high security," Stiles counters.

Scott's eyes narrow at that, "You've looked into it already, haven't you?"

Stiles swallows hard under his gaze, "Maybe."

"Jesus Christ, dude," Scott mutters, running his hands through his hair. He resumes pacing back and forth in front of Stiles until the parking lot is more than halfway cleared out. "What makes you so sure that he can help? Or that he'll even want to?" He finally asks.

He's not sure. At all. But it's better than nothing. He doesn't tell Scott that, though.

"Before... You know..." Stiles starts, looking up at Scott, "I was helping Derek do all of the research on the alpha pack. He knows about them. The day that I found his journal, he had been out tracking them. Before that, he had been really close to finding them, and I'm pretty sure that he knew who they were and where they were staying."

"And what if we show up and he doesn't want to help us?" Scott pushes, trying to find a way to talk Stiles out of it.

"We were right about the connection to him," Stiles replies, even though Scott already knows, "If he doesn't already know about all of the murders, don't you think he'll at least be a little curious? Maybe curious enough to give us something?"

Scott sighs, "I don't know, man... I don't think it's worth it. I don't want to put you through all of that."

"You're not _putting _me through anything," Stiles replies, smiling a little, "I volunteered, remember?"

"But there's got to be another way," Scott attempts to argue, frustrated.

"I don't think so," Stiles says, voice dark. He thumbs at a piece of paper in his pocket before pulling it out. "This was at the last crime scene."

An entire day of hoping his dad hadn't noticed that he had taken the photo is suddenly worth it when Scott's jaw drops at it. "It's-"

"I think it was meant for us," Stiles supplies.

"_Get him_," Scott breaths in response, eyes still fixed on the photo.

"Yeah..." Stiles says, suddenly nervous because if _this_ doesn't make Scott agree to the idea, nothing will.

"You know if we go, we're doing exactly what they want us to," Scott says, voice dark when he finally pulls his eyes away from the picture, "We'll be playing right into their game."

"We haven't really got much of a choice. We can either sit around and wait for someone else to get killed, or do what they want us to," Stiles says quickly, trying to drive his point home.

And at that, Scott finally sighs, his entire body moving with the breath. He hands the photo back to Stiles, locking eyes with him as he does so, "When are we going?"

* * *

"This is stupid. This is so, _so _stupid," Scott mumbles to himself even as he climbs into Stiles' jeep with him on Monday morning. Instead of picking Scott up to head to school like usual, they're heading in the opposite direction, ready to make the hour and a half drive to the mental hospital.

To Derek Hale.

It's stupid. Scott's right, it's really stupid. It's probably the worst idea that Stiles has ever had. "But we're running out of options," Stiles says, mostly to Scott but also to himself. A reminder. _You're doing this for the greater good._

"Right," Scott says, voice far away. Stiles glances at him - he's staring out the windshield, expression blank, but he can tell he's anxious - and reaches over to place a reassuring hand on his knee.

"We'll be fine dude," Again, he says it mostly to Scott, but also to himself.

"We better be," Scott tears his eyes off of the road to glance at him, "You've got it all sorted out?"

Stiles nods, looking back to the road, "Called them yesterday and said that I'd be there around nine or so, so we just have to hurry."

"And you told them..." Scott presses.

Stiles grins at that, pulling a badge out of his pocket and flashing it at Scott, "That officer Stilinski was stopping by to talk to Derek Hale in light of recent events to see if he could help us out."

"No photo," Scott remarks, grabbing it to examine it, "Convenient. How did you know it would work?"

"Stole that from my dad. It's a spare, I think. And I've overheard him on the phone enough to know the right things to say," He's really beaming now, just a little proud of himself.

"So he'll probably be expecting you."

"He'll be expecting my _dad_, if they even give him a name," Stiles replies, "We've still got the element of surprise."

"Jesus," Scott mutters, sinking back into his seat after he hands the badge back to Stiles, "And usually I'm the one dragging _you_ into this kind of shit."

"Payback's a bitch," Stiles offers, which causes Scott to laugh.

"Yeah, apparently."

The drive doesn't take too horribly long - they get there in a little under an hour and fifteen minutes with the way that Stiles drives - and then the boys are sitting in his jeep in the parking lot, staring up at the building. Stiles heart is racing. The entire drive he tried to stay lighthearted and positive, but now that they're here, now that they're only a few walls away from the man who tried to kill him a little over a year ago, he can't help the way his palms get sweaty and his breathing hitches and his heart races. He's nervous.

"Hey..." Scott says softly, "You're going to be fine."

"I know," Stiles voice is barely above a whisper, and he's breathing fast now, on the verge of a panic attack.

"We can still back out," Scott assures, "I won't think any less of you if we do. It's okay, dude."

Stiles shakes his head frantically, willing his breathing to slow. "No," He manages to huff out, "No, we need to do this."

"I can go," Scott offers with one last ditch effort to save his friend the trouble.

Stiles shakes his head again, "No, it needs to be me."

"No it doesn't," Scott argues, "You don't have to do this to yourself."

"Yes," Stiles takes a deep breath, "I do." It's silent in the car for a long moment, but by the big puppy eyes Scott is giving him, Stiles can tell that Scott is worried about him. That he thinks Stiles is trying to sacrifice himself. And maybe it_ is_ a little bit of self-hatred and Stiles wishing that he could have been braver a year ago, but he shakes that thought away. "We need answers and I need closure," He finally manages, and it _is_ honest, "It's a win-win."

Scott sighs in defeat, "Fine. Just... If he makes you uncomfortable - if _anything_ happens, leave, okay?"

Stiles nods, "I will."

At that, he's reaching into his back seat and pulling out one of his dads old jackets - also stolen - and is pulling it on over his black t-shirt. "How do I look?" He asks, glancing at Scott and shooting him a small smile.

Scott looks him up and down quickly before nodding, "Not bad. Jacket's a little big, but you'll be fine."

Stiles takes a few deep breaths at that to calm himself before opening his door, "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Scott replies, flashing him a nervous smile. At that, Stiles is climbing out of the jeep and making his way toward the hospital until Scott calls his name. He turns on his heel to find his friend hanging out the window. "Be careful, Stiles," He calls, "Please."

* * *

Somewhere on the third floor of the hospital, Derek Hale is sitting in his cell, waiting patiently for his visitor and wondering what could bring the Sheriff all the way from Beacon Hills.

* * *

**AN: **_Chapter title is from the song "I Tore You Apart In My Head" by Balance and Composure_


	4. We've Fallen Far Too Distant

_**We've Fallen Far Too Distant**_

* * *

"Stilinski, right?" The woman at the front desk asks before Stiles is even five steps in the door. She's got short, choppy blonde hair and a warm smile which is surprising considering where she works and Stiles silently thanks God she's friendly. And she's expecting him. _And_ he didn't even have to say anything.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, I-"

"You're right on time," She says, still smiling when Stiles reaches the desk. She then thrusts a clipboard at him, "I just need you to sign in really quickly and I'll page someone to escort you up there, alright?"

He nods, "Sounds good."

Stiles has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself - and to stop his hand from shaking - as he forges his father's signature and hands the clipboard back to the woman. And once he's alone in the room, he can't help but panic slightly, wondering if the station will find out about it - about how much trouble his dad would get in this time and - he shakes himself out of it.

_You're fine. You're going to be fine_.

The door opens again and the blonde woman walks through along with a taller, burly looking man. She smiles, "This is Jeff, he's going to escort you to the cell. If you need anything, he'll be in the other room the whole time, all you have to do is holler, alright?"

Stiles manages to nod, "Alright."

The corridors are long and white and quiet, just as Stiles had imagined them. There are thick steel doors to his left and right with just small barred windows in the middle. Some of the windows are vacant and empty and others have hands or fingers curling out of the bars and curious eyes behind them, watching him. Stiles swallows hard and stays close behind Jeff, who's almost twice his size.

"So what brings you down here?" The burly man asks once they find themselves in an elevator heading up.

"What?" Stiles asks, looking up.

"From Beacon Hills," Jeff specifies, "Is it those murders?" Stiles is silent for a moment, mouth hanging open, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Jeff notices his apprehension and shoots him a smile, "I understand if you can't really talk about it."

"Thanks," Stiles replies quietly.

"Though they _do_ seem similar to this Hale guy's..." He muses, mostly to himself.

"Yeah, they do," Stiles breaths in return.

It's not a long walk once they reach the third floor and Stiles finds himself swallowing hard and clenching his fists at his side when they reach some double doors and Jeff pushes them open for him. "He's the only one in this section," He explains, "Moved him here for you today. If you need me, just yell."

Stiles nods stiffly, "Right, thank you."

And then he's taking a deep breath and walking through the doors.

It's eerie in the hallway. Silent. Despite the fact that there's big, wide windows on his right, the barred cells on his left make him on edge. There's light filtering out of the third one down, and as he walks, Stiles safely assumes that one is Derek's.

_This is it. You can do this._

When he's finally face to face with the cell, his breathing catches in his throat. His pulse spikes and he can feel his nails digging into his palms as his fists clench, but he tries to keep himself under control, reminding himself that he's doing this for the greater good. For his dad and his friends.

Derek is sitting in his cell, his back to stiles and he's hunched over a desk, writing something. Stiles lets himself wonder if it's a new journal. He wonders what he's writing about - if he's written about him, like he did with everyone else he killed.

Stiles swallows hard.

"Sheriff Stilinski," Derek is surprisingly the first to speak, which causes Stiles to jump slightly. He hadn't been expecting that. Derek was always so difficult, even when they _were_ friends. "What brings _you _here?" He pauses for a long moment, even stops writing, and Stiles _swears_ he can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, "How's Stiles?"

_This is it. _

Stiles takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The last thing he wants is for his voice to come out shaky or weak.

_You can do this_.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Derek's entire body tenses at that. Stiles swears, even though he can't see much of his face, that his jaw clenches tight, and he notices how his knuckles suddenly go white, gripping the edge of the desk. It's silent for a long, torturous moment, and Stiles wants to say something - anything - to relieve the tension, but he doesn't. He refuses to be the first to cave. So he waits.

_Your move, Derek_.

And as if on cue, Derek stands from his stool, body still tensed underneath his white shirt. His fists are clenched at his sides, much like Stiles' and he takes a deep breath before turning. Stiles takes that second before Derek sees him to straighten his posture, stand tall, to look strong. Not weak and terrified, like he feels.

Derek's hair is pretty much the same length, short and spiky on top of his head, but his face is scruffy like he hasn't shaved in over a week. He looks different. Broken, maybe. But still dark, still brooding and threatening like Stiles remembers. He's a caged animal. Wild.

He approaches the metal bars and Stiles takes a step back in response, not wanting to be too close.

"Well I'll be damned," Derek finally breaths, fingers wrapping around the bars as he studies Stiles from inside his cell. His head cocks to the side like an animal, eyes raking over him in a way that makes Stiles feel naked. Vulnerable. As if Derek can tell everything about him with that one look. "When they told me Stilinski was coming to interview me, I had _no idea_ it would be you..."

Stiles swallows, mouth suddenly dry and suddenly unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Derek feels like talking (for the first time in his life) so he doesn't have to say anything. Not yet, at least. "Nice coat," He says, looking him up and down, "You're not a police officer, _are you_?"

Stiles finally opens his mouth at that, "No."

"No, you're still too young," Derek mutters, backing away from the bars to pace the length of his cell, "How'd you even get in here?"

"I have my ways," Stiles says, voice dark.

Derek smiles - he actually _fucking smiles_ - at that, "Oh, you've grown up a bit, haven't you?" When Stiles doesn't say anything in return, he continues, "Though I guess a near death experience will do that to you."

"Shut up," Stiles hisses. He knows that Derek is just trying to get a rise out of him - he's probably bored, sitting in a cage all day - but he can't help but play into it.

"So why _are_ you here?" Derek asks suddenly, grin fading, "You obviously don't want to see me..." He inhales sharply through his nose, "You're _terrified_."

"I'm not scared of you," Stiles lies through gritted teeth. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Lie," Derek says, chuckling, "I may be out of practice, Stiles, but I can still tell when you're lying. And your fear..." He grins again, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, "Smells almost the same it did a year ago."

"Stop," Stiles warns, his fists clenching again.

"Your heart is racing, Stiles," Derek taunts, gripping the bars of the cell, "Not like it used to when you were around me... No, that was _arousal,_ though we can talk about _that_ later. You're scared, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Stiles grits out, trying to ignore the fact that he's playing right into Derek's game. He hasn't even been there ten minutes and already Derek has managed to get inside his head.

"So why are you here?" Derek asks again, shaking the bars as he does so, which causes Stiles to jump, "You're obviously terrified, so you're not here because you want to be." Then, surprisingly, a look of what seems like concern flashes across his face, "What's going on?"

Stiles takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. This is what he came here for, after all - to talk to Derek about the alpha pack. He takes a moment before finally answering, "The alpha pack."

Derek looks surprised for a moment before reeling it in, the calm, controlled look returning to his face. "That's odd. I figured they would have given up after I was gone. They were only after me..."

"They did," Stiles replies, surprised at how easy talking to him about it is so far. He silently lets himself hope that he can get his information from Derek and leave as soon as possible.

"What changed?" Derek asks with genuine curiosity, cocking his head at Stiles. He finds himself thinking that Derek doesn't look so menacing like this, just as confused as he is behind the bars of his cage - _cage_, a pretty fitting term for it. He shakes the thought from his head, though. Derek isn't innocent. He's evil.

"They started killing again," Stiles explains, "About a month ago."

Derek smiles at that, "So you figured that you could come here, get their names from me, and be on your merry way, is that it?"

Stiles doesn't say anything in response, just stares at him, eyes wide. The whole cooperative side of Derek seems like it's disappearing pretty quickly. "You got me _arrested_, Stiles," Derek says, turning to pace his cell again, "What makes you think I'd want to help you?"

"_Arrested_?" Stiles asks, "You tried to _kill_ me. I hate seeing you as much as you hate seeing me. Do you _really_ think I'd be here if I had any other choice?"

"You could have made Scott come," Derek offers, smirking. He stops pacing to gauge Stiles' reaction. "Or is he doing that thing where he keeps putting you in harm's way again? Poor, defenseless Stiles..."

"It was my idea," Stiles snaps in return.

"Of course it was," Derek replies, sounding just as irritated, "You wanted closure, didn't you? You wanted to see me miserable behind bars to know that it was worth it, am I right?" When Stiles doesn't reply, just keeps his lips shut in a light line, Derek smirks again, "Or did you miss me?"

"Fuck off," Stiles whispers.

"You did, didn't you?" Derek taunts, "Jesus, Stiles, I tried to _kill_ you and you still can't get over that little crush you had on me?"

"They're killing your friends," Stiles blurts, trying to find any way he can to shut Derek up.

"_What_?" Derek looks shocked for a moment before turning, so Stiles can't see his face. Then, quietly, he's continuing with, "I don't have friends."

"A couple of hikers were the first ones," Stiles starts, knowing that he struck a chord with that one, "People you went to school with. And your old middle school English teacher. Oh, and an old friend of _Laura's_ from college-"

"Shut up," Derek hisses, turning to look at Stiles again.

"A police officer. You went to school with _her_, too. And one of your uncle's old friends," Stiles finishes, ignoring the way that Derek is glaring at him, "All of them connected because of you, Derek. They're dropping like flies, all because they knew _you_."

"Shut up!" Derek yells, and Stiles takes a step back because he suddenly notices the claws jutting from his fingers, the way his eyes are glowing blue. He tries not to let the sight scare him like it does in his dreams, instead he takes a few deep, calming breaths.

"You're not an alpha anymore," Stiles observes out loud. Derek doesn't grace that with a response. Instead, he stares at Stiles, calming himself enough for his claws to retract before speaking.

"You're lying," He finally grits out.

"I'm not," Stiles replies, "They've been trying to communicate with Scott and I, too. Left their marks on our lockers. On my front door." Derek doesn't reply to that, either, just glares at Stiles. He looks like a caged animal, angry and terrifying and clawing to get out, but he can't. There's still a spark of fire in his eyes, though, and _that_ scares Stiles.

"We can't think of any reason why they'd be doing it, except to get to you," Stiles finally says.

"So you played right into their game," Derek finishes, rolling his eyes.

"We didn't have any other options," Stiles snaps back.

"They're doing this to get to me," Derek sighs out. He's gripping the bars of his cell again, looking down. "They want to piss me off, to get me to do something stupid. They're tired of waiting."

_Something stupid, like break out?_

Stiles doesn't ask the question out loud, but he's sure it's what Derek means. He tries not to think about how much that scares him.

"None of those people deserved it," Derek finally says, and _that_ sparks something inside of Stiles.

"And all of the people _you_ killed did?!" He yells it, then glances at the doors, making sure Jeff doesn't come check on him because of the yelling. When there's no movement, he turns his attention back to Derek, anger boiling up inside of him.

"They did," Derek growls.

"Bullshit," Stiles manages, clenching his fists at his sides. He takes a few steps forward, "_Nobody _deserves what you did to them."

"The first one was an arsonist," Derek replies, as if he hadn't heard what Stiles just said, "Burned his house down with his wife and kids inside and got away with it. He deserved it. Another was a hunter, after me and Laura. They _all_ deserved it, Stiles."

Stiles tries not to read too much into the fact that Derek thought that what he did was _right_. Instead, he argues. "If you only kill people who deserve it, then why did you kill _Laura_?" Stiles notices how he flinches at her name. "You own sister..." He adds.

"Self preservation," Derek says, turning so Stiles can't see his face. "She found out. She was going to stop me."

"But _she_ didn't deserve it!" Stiles yells. When Derek doesn't answer, Stiles risks asking another question. He knows he shouldn't open up old wounds - he knows he should just leave it be - but he can't. He takes another couple of steps forward before quietly asking, "What about me?"

It happens in a split second after that. Stiles realizes, when Derek looks up at him, just how close they are. He attempts to take a step back to safety, but not before Derek's hands are jutting between the bars, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and pulling him back in. One of his hands holds tight at his neck while his other buries in hair, pulling up roughly so Stiles is facing him. "I like the long hair," Derek mutters, accenting it with a sharp tug, which causes him to let out a little yelp of pain. The hand in his hair quickly releases and finds its way to his mouth. Derek shakes his head, clicking his tongue, "None of that. Can't let the guard hear you."

In a split second Stiles' memory is flooded with images of the last time he and Derek were this close - of his red eyes, his claws, the sharp pain in his stomach, the blood - and he whimpers against the hand, bracing himself against the bars and attempting to pull away.

Derek's other hand leaves his neck in favor for grabbing at his hair again, pulling roughly so their faces are close, and smirks. "I may like you, Stiles," He says, voice dark, husky, "But I like _me_ more."

Stiles starts struggling helplessly at that, making weak little noises against the hand in hopes that the guard can hear him. He can't, of course, and Stiles silently wonders if this is it - if his stupidity has finally done him in this time. He whimpers against the hand when Derek tugs sharply at his hair again so his face is pressed up against the bars. "I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth," Derek says softly against Stiles' ear, hot breath ghosting over his skin, "_Don't make a noise_, or else... Well... You know."

Stiles nods weakly, and then the hand on his mouth is suddenly gone. "Please, Derek," Stiles whimpers softly, struggling to pull away again.

"In any other context, that would sound lovely," Derek whispers back against him, his free hand now trailing down to Stiles' stomach. The thought alone makes Stiles feel nauseous.

"Let me go, please," Stiles tries again, voice small.

"I could kill you right now, if I wanted," Derek replies instead, lifting up at Stiles shirt to reveal his skin and he gasps when he sees the scar. "Do you look at it and think of me?" He asks, fingers trailing along the scarred flesh.

"Please, stop..." Stiles whimpers.

"Oh you don't _really_ want that," Derek replies, and Stiles can't help but wonder _just_ how bored he's gotten, alone in his cage. He doesn't really want to find out. Once he feels a claw dragging against his bare skin, he takes the risk and starts screaming.

The double doors fly open almost instantly and Jeff is there, gun in hand. "Let him go!" He bellows, taking quick steps toward the cell.

Derek loosens his grip on Stiles at that, enough to look him in the eyes - his are narrowed, angry - before finally letting him go, and backing up, arms raised in surrender. Stiles practically collapses onto the ground at that, scooting as far away from the cell as humanly possible, before Jeff's hands are under his arm pits, hauling him up. "Let's get you out of here," He says, voice rough.

He's rushing Stiles down the corridor and they're almost to the doors when Stiles hears a voice call out behind them. "Sheriff," Derek calls, mockingly. Stiles turns to see his hands reaching out of his cell again. "Ethan and Aiden. The twins? You might want to look into them."

* * *

When Stiles emerges from the hospital, it takes everything he has not to collapse right then and there. Somehow, his legs manage to carry him numbly through half of the parking lot, though, before he's dropping to his knees. Scott is there within seconds - Stiles is sure that he sensed his adrenaline and was already out of the jeep - his arms holding him up. "Hey," Scott says softly, stopping him from hitting the pavement completely, "Are you okay?"

Stiles nods, even though his eyes are shut tight. "Yeah," He manages, "Just overwhelmed, I think."

And before Stiles can stop him, Scott is sniffing the air like an animal, his nose leading him to Stiles hair. He pulls away after a second as if it burns him, and Stiles opens his eyes at that to see Scott wrinkling his nose. "You reek of him," He says, eyes narrowed, "He didn't-"

"No," Stiles assures, shaking his head, "He didn't hurt me." _Much._

Scott stares at him for a moment, as if he doesn't believe him, but eventually lets it slide. He's standing at that, hands under Stiles' armpits, pulling him to his feet. He wraps one of Stiles' arms around his shoulders, taking some of his weight, then turns them away from the hospital. "Let's get you to the jeep."

Stiles lets Scott place him in the passenger seat without an argument, knowing that he shouldn't be driving right now anyway - not with the way his body is shaking - and tries to relax into the seat once the car starts. "Hey..." Scott says softly, eyes traveling over Stiles, who's trying desperately to get himself under control. He knows he's on the verge of a panic attack - his breath is short and choppy and he's shaking like he's in shock - and he closes his eyes, trying to will his body to calm down. Suddenly, Scott's hand is on his shoulder. It's warm and comforting and it helps the shaking a little. "You're alright," Scott says, voice comforting, "You're safe."

Stiles nods at that, eyes shut tight, "Thank you."

"Of course," Scott replies, as if it's nothing, and then Stiles can feel the Jeep pulling away and out of the parking lot.

Once they've been driving for a good twenty minutes, Stiles has managed to regain most of his composure. He sheds his father's coat off and tosses it in the back seat, along with the badge and glances at Scott, "I can drive if you want."

Scott shakes his head, "I've got you, dude. That's what I'm here for, remember? Moral support."

Stiles chuckles at Scott using his own words against him, "Right. Thanks. Again." Scott is silent for a moment after that, as if he wants to say something, but doesn't know if he should. It's tense, and Stiles hates it. "Just say it," He finally says, glancing at his friend.

Scott lets out a deep breath, turning to gauge Stiles' body language before looking back at the road. "Did you get anything out of him?" He asks after a long moment.

Stiles feels like an idiot at that. The drove an hour and a half to visit _Derek Hale_ of all people, and from all of that he hadn't gotten anything but a couple of names that may or may not be true. "Kind of," He finally answers, hoping Scott isn't disappointed, "He said to look into Ethan and Aiden-"

"The new twins?" Scott asks, glancing at him.

Stiles nods, "Yeah. That's all I got from him."

"That's great!" Scott exclaims, smiling.

Stiles sighs, "No it's not. I was in there for over thirty minutes and that's all I got from him. It's like it was a big game to him."

"But it's a start!" Scott argues, smiling, "It's more than we had before."

"He could be leading us on a wild goose chase," Stiles counters.

Scott shrugs, "Or he could be right. It's worth a shot."

"I guess," Stiles replies, shrugging.

* * *

Thankfully, Stiles beats his dad home and replaces his coat and badge, then attempts to get some rest. He's exhausted, and even though the school day isn't even over yet, Stiles doesn't bother going like Scott does. He needs to sleep. He can't of course, but it's worth a shot.

The second he's alone in his bed, Stiles closes his eyes, willing himself to relax, but all he's left with is terrifying memories of Derek and the hospital and his _hands_ gripping him close. Stiles absentmindedly runs his fingers though his hair, as if to reassure himself that Derek is gone. That he can't touch him again. It helps for a moment, but as soon as he closes his eyes again, he can see Derek's, staring right back at him.

He sits up at that and grabs his laptop from the other side of his bed. If he can't sleep, he'll at least try to get some work done.

And he really does try. He spends a few minutes on facebook, trying to find Ethan and Aiden anywhere, and when he can't he gives up. Within ten minutes, Stiles finds himself looking up information about the mental hospital - about the chances of someone breaking out of it. While the probability of it isn't very high, Stiles reminds himself that the statistics are for _humans_, not pissed off werewolves looking for revenge.

Stiles finds himself sitting in front of his computer, wondering just how far the alpha pack would have to go to piss Derek off enough for him to break out. He also finds himself wondering if his visit was enough. What if he _had _played right into their game? Scott and Derek had both told him that he had. What if the alpha pack _wanted_ him to go to Derek, knowing that it would give him a reason to do something stupid?

Now Stiles _really_ can't sleep.

The second that three-o-clock rolls around, Stiles is calling Scott.

"Hey man, whats up?" He answers after a couple of rings, "You're good, I literally _just _got out of class."

"You get anything on the twins?" Stiles asks, almost too eager.

Scott either doesn't hear the nerves in his voice or doesn't comment on it. "Yeah," He replies, voice low.

"And...?"

Scott sighs, "I think Derek might be on to something."

The sound of his name makes Stiles' stomach ache. "Why?"

"They weren't at school," Scott starts, "So I snooped around their lockers a bit."

"Did you find anything?"

"No," Scott replies. He can hear a car door shut in the background and Allison mumbling something. "That's just it though," He continues, "I couldn't even smell anything. I mean, most lockers at least smell like people. I didn't get _anything_."

"What's that mean?" Stiles asks, stitting up.

"It's like they've been scrubbed," Scott explains, "Like they know we're on to them. Or they're prepared or something."

Stiles sighs, "Great. That means they're probably not coming back to school."

"Yeah..." Scott breaths, "Look, would you mind if we told Allison's dad?" Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Scott cuts him off, "I won't tell him how we found out. He just needs to know. We need as much help as we can get, okay?"

"Alright, yeah," Stiles breaths out, running a nervous hand through his hair. He tries not to think about how sensitive his scalp is when he does so.

* * *

He dreams about Derek Hale that night.

* * *

**AN:** _Chapter title is from the song "Bones" by In Fear And Faith_


	5. Silence Is Screaming Your Name

_**Silence Is Screaming Your Name**_

* * *

_And for a voice that never speaks, I hear you so well  
This is a sign to lock your doors_

* * *

After Stiles' visit - and Derek's violent behavior - on Friday, Derek is surprised that he isn't moved back to his old cell immediately.

"We're keeping you up here for the time being," The guard - his name is Jeff, if Derek remembers correctly from Stiles' terrified screams - tells him that night. "Think of the higher security and no neighbors as a punishment," He spits, then turns on his heel and leaves after sliding Derek's dinner into the cell.

He doesn't touch it.

Instead, Derek makes his way to the other end of his cell and lays down on his temporary bed, staring up at the ceiling. Despite the show he put on for Stiles, he is a little bit worried about the alpha pack. Part of him had actually been hoping that they'd leave Beacon Hills once he was gone - once he was either killed or arrested, whichever came first. But apparently, they don't give up that easy.

Being confined to a small cage hasn't done wonders for his stamina or fighting abilities, and he honestly can't remember the last time he shifted. He hadn't even realized that his eyes were blue again until Stiles had said something, either. Though it makes sense, with him being caged away and all, and his old pack probably with Scott now. He can't help but wonder if the Alpha Pack would even still want him upon finding out that he's not an alpha anymore. Or maybe they knew? Maybe they knew, and just wanted to kill him now?

Derek punches the bed at the thought of that.

He lets out a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and his hands come up to run through his hair. They stop short, however, when he catches Stiles' scent on them. He presses his hands close to his nose and inhales, breathing in the scent.

Stiles visit had been unexpected, but not unpleasant. By just one look at him, Derek knew that he was still effected by what had happened a year ago, and that sent a thrill through his body. Stiles hadn't forgotten him. Clearly, the opposite. Derek is far past the point of caring if its fucked up that he enjoys that, too.

And the news of the alpha pack wasn't _all_ terrible. If they want him as bad as they did before, Derek knows that they won't hesitate in trying to break him out. Though he's sure that they're just killing people as a game, to piss him off or string him along or if it's just pure boredom, he's not sure. In the off chance that they _do_ break him out, though he could at least fight his way out of the hospital without them killing him, then he might just have a chance to be a free man again.

What he'd give to be able to go outside again.

Just as he's entertaining the thought of it, Derek's ears catch the sound of footsteps down the hallway, just outside of the double doors that Stiles had been whisked out of earlier. Though he's curious as to who it could be - his guard was supposed to be the last visit of the night - he doesn't want to seem too eager. He stays put on the bed, hands in front of his face, eyes closed, still breathing in Stiles' scent.

"You just going to lie there all night, or are you going to tell me how much you missed me?" A voice rings out over the silence of his cell and Derek's eyes immediately snap open at that because he _knows_ that voice. If his hands hadn't been over his face, he probably would have been able to smell him too, but Derek doesn't have to smell to know who it is when he sits up.

Standing on the other side of the iron bars is none other than Peter Hale, illuminated by the moonlight.

Derek is up and out of the bed in seconds, hands grasping at the bars as he studies his uncle from inside the cage. "Took me a while to find you," Peter starts when Derek is left speechless, "I thought you were on the first floor, but it turns out they moved you up here for a visitor. Since when do _you_ get visitors?"

"How did you get in here?" Derek asks instead answering his question.

"How do you think?" Peter asks in return, gesturing at his clothes. He's dressed like a guard, "Took a little sneaking around and possibly injuring a guard when he left earlier, but I figured it was my only chance of getting in, since everyone else thinks you_ killed_ me."

Derek shrugs. It's half true. "Why are you here?"

"Same reason that Stilinski kid was here earlier," He replies, lips twisting up into a wicked grin, "That is him I smell all over you, isn't it?"

Derek nods, "He came here about the alpha pack."

Peter hums at that, "Must have gotten the message from them too."

"_Message_?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, wrote it in poor Andrew's blood, too. You remember Andrew, don't you?" He replies, cocking his head to the side, "That one was kind of the final straw with me. I really didn't want to play into their stupid little game, but they're kind of leaving me no choice here. Plus I missed my nephew." He smiles at that, reaching forward through the bars to ruffle Derek's hair.

"Stiles didn't mention-"

"Of course he didn't," Peter cuts him off, "Did you really think he'd tell you everything?" Derek shrugs at that and Peter continues, "What he doesn't understand by_ get him_ though, is they didn't mean for him to come here and rile you up and get your hormones pumping, they meant for someone to _get you_. Hence why I'm here."

"You're-"

"I came to break your little fugitive ass out, yes," Peter replies, grinning.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.

Peter sighs at that, "If you haven't noticed, Derek, I'm dressed as _a fucking guard_. Nobody's going to notice that the other guy is missing until Monday, and all I really have to do is find some keys and a change of clothes for you by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Derek asks, feeling stupid. What's so important about tomorrow night?

"Jesus, they really have tamed you, haven't they?" Peter taunts, earning a small growl from Derek. "Tomorrow's a full moon, idiot," He answers, "Figured it would be the perfect time to get you out of here. Besides, they're moving you back downstairs on Sunday, and that might be a little harder for me to work out."

Derek can't help but grin at that, but it fades pretty quickly, "Why are they killing again? I thought that once I was dead or gone, they'd give up."

"Yeah, well you're _not_ dead," Peter replies, all sass, "And _I_ think that they've just gotten bored. Only so much to do around here."

"So they assumed that by killing people that I knew, I'd find a way to get out and _play_ with them?" Derek asks, becoming a little angry at the thought. To be honest, he's gotten used to sitting in his cell. Life is simpler behind bars. He doesn't have to worry about other werewolves or hunters or the police or keeping track of his inexperienced pack.

"It worked, didn't it?" Peter asks, voice lowering an octave with the question.

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off when he hears another set of footsteps heading their way. They both glance toward the double doors before Peter leans in close to Derek, smiling. "Tomorrow night. Ten. Be ready."

Derek nods in return, and then Peter is walking swiftly off in the opposite direction, leaving him alone once more.

* * *

The hours tick by at a painfully slow rate on Saturday. Derek doesn't sleep much - to no surprise - but he's used to running on no sleep. Besides, he's anxious.

Night falls shortly before eight, and even though he can't _see_ the moon through the little window on the opposite wall, he can feel it. It's been a long time since Derek's had a room with a window - a long time since he's been able to look outside - let alone known when a full moon was. It's been a long time since he's really felt _alive_. And while he had gotten used to sitting behind bars all day, he can't wait to get out. He can't wait to stretch his legs. His first couple of months, he used to count the days, used to daydream about a full moon coming, about being able to break out. But he never knew for sure what day it was, and once he was in that cage, all of his power and confidence was shot.

But now, as Derek presses himself up against the bars of his cell and closes his eyes, letting himself feel the energy of the full moon, he feels whole.

His body thrills at the idea of stepping foot outside again. Of the thought of bathing in the moonlight. Of freedom.

Ten eventually comes and passes and soon it's almost eleven, and Derek is sitting on his bed, praying that Peter hasn't gotten caught or given up on him. He sits, until almost eleven-thirty, before he hears footsteps coming down the hall.

"Don't tell me you thought I left you," Peter opens with as he throws the double doors open, grinning a wide, toothy smile.

"Well..." Derek shoots back, standing to come to the bars.

Peter just rolls his eyes. "Took me a little longer than I expected to get the keys, but-" He dangles them in front of Derek's face, "-am I good, or what?"

Derek chooses to ignore the blood on his uncle's sleeves - not that he cares - and immediately reaches for the keys. Peter pulls away, though, shaking his head. "Not yet. I've got a few conditions before I do this."

Derek sighs, crossing his arms, "Alright."

"Put these on first," He says, thrusting a pair of powder blue pants and matching shirt at him, "You're not walking out the front door dressed like that."

Derek raises his eyebrows but takes the clothes, "Front door?"

"Yup," Peter replies, grinning.

"Alright..." Derek is wary, but he trusts him. "What else?"

"You're coming to _my_ place when we leave. Not the old house and _not_ the Sheriff's house-" Derek opens his mouth to speak but Peter cuts him off, "I know you're probably _dying _to go there and visit your little _pet_, but _no._ My house."

Derek nods, "Fine."

"And we lay low for a couple of days," Peter continues, "They're going to be looking for you tomorrow. They probably won't notice you're gone until they go to move you, but when they do, the house is the first place they're going to check. And I can guarantee you that Stilinski is going to have an army protecting that kid. So no stupid shit, alright?"

He nods again, trying not to be insulted by the lack of faith his uncle has in him, "Alright."

"I'm not saying that you're stupid," Peter says, sensing his apprehension, "I'm just saying that you have a pretty nasty track record of doing stupid shit when you're in love."

"I'm not-" Derek starts, but promptly shuts his mouth when Peter just smirks in response.

It's mostly silent after that. Derek strips and changes quickly, and once he's standing in front of Peter, journal in hand (which Peter eyes suspiciously), Peter is _finally_ unlocking the cell and swinging the door open, smiling wide.

Derek takes a tentative step forward at first, and then he's standing in the moonlight and Peter is wrapping him in a quick hug and-

_He's free_.

"Now follow my lead, alright kid?" Peter says as he begins leading the way out the double doors that he came through not more than ten minutes ago.

Derek takes one last look back at the cell before nodding.

He can't help but wonder how Peter has managed to memorize the layout of the hospital so well in only one day, but he decides not to question it as he follows him into the elevator. "Aren't they going to look for you?" Derek asks, looking up at the camera once they're moving toward the first floor, "You know... When they watch the tapes?"

"Why do you think I'm hiding my face?" Peter replies, all sarcasm, and that's when Derek notices that his head has been bowed the entire time, just out of sight. No wonder he memorized the layout of the hospital. "Might as well wave to the camera," He adds, smiling.

Derek smirks up at it.

It isn't long before the two of them are just behind the doors to the lobby, and Peter is throwing his arm around Derek's shoulders, muttering, "Go with it," and pushing the doors open.

Derek tries not to look too suspicious as he glances around, but he's suddenly thankful when the room is empty, save for a brunette behind the desk, feet kicked up on the desk, reading a magazine. Peter is next to him, pretending to carry on with some fake conversation about a girl and a party, and Derek attempts to go along with it, nodding and laughing when he's supposed to.

"Have a good night Molly," Peter calls, mid sentence, as they're walking past the girl. She looks up and Derek glances away, praying that she doesn't recognize him. The whole three steps they take go by horribly slow before he hears her say something along the lines of _yeah, you too_, and then they're free. She doesn't say anything else and soon she's behind them and then they're walking out the front doors and _they're free_.

Derek takes a deep breath once the doors close behind them, soaking in the fresh air and moonlight and almost pauses to enjoy the moment, but Peter still has his arm around him and is pulling him forward. "Come on, places to be."

* * *

When the Sheriff gets the call, Stiles is over at Scott's house, studying. He goes numb at it. In fact, he doesn't even believe it at first.

"Are you sure it's the right guy?" He asks the officer on the other line, praying that they misread it. That he heard them wrong.

"We double checked, sir," He says, voice grim.

He wants to collapse at that moment. Since the beginning - when Derek had been locked up a year ago - this was his biggest fear. When they found out that he was going to be sent to the mental hospital, not prison, this was why he was upset. This was the one thing he feared most for Stiles.

_Stiles._

"I need to call my son," He just says numbly, and then he's hanging up before the person on the other line has a chance to say anything else.

Stiles answers on the fourth ring. "Hey dad, what's up?"

"You need to get home," He manages, mouth on overdrive. He's surprised he can think right now, let alone talk.

"Is everything okay?" Stiles asks, confused.

"No," He replies honestly, "Please, just… Head home."

"Yeah, alright…" Stiles glances at Scott on the other line, shrugging, "I'll be there soon." It takes him a second after he hangs up, but then he's panicking, eyes wide and mouth hanging open when he looks back at Scott. "What if he found out about Friday?"

"I'm sure you're fine dude," Scott replies, though he's worrying about the same thing, "He sounded worried, though. You should get home."

* * *

When Stiles _does_ get home, he's even more nervous that before. Besides his dad's car in the driveway like usual, there's also another police cruiser parked on the street, as well as Chris Argent's car out front. He makes eye contact with the officer sitting in the cruiser (who isn't in the house for some reason) and they shoot him a small, sad smile before he makes his way to the front door. It's the same smile that people gave him at the hospital when his mom was dying - when they knew it was only a matter of time - and it's the same smile people gave him he went back to school, after getting out of the hospital a little over a year ago. Like they felt sorry for him.

That makes Stiles feel worse.

His dad and Chris are sitting at the kitchen table, and when Stiles walks in the front door, both of them turn around, on edge, as if they had almost been expecting someone else. Stiles feels the pit in his stomach drop, but he manages to make his way to the kitchen and shoot them a little smile. "What's going on?"

"Sit down," His dad says, face grim. Chris pulls out a chair for him, and Stiles shoots both of them a worried look as he takes a seat.

"Alright, seriously, you're both scaring me," He says after a moment of sitting in awkward silence, "Would someone like to fill me in on what's going on? If this is about the other day I swear I was only doing what-"

"Stiles," His dad interrupts, holding up a hand, "Look, promise me you won't panic when I tell you. We've got things under control…"

"Okay now you're_ really_ scaring me," Stiles says, a tremor running through his body, "What is it?" Part of him is terrified of what it could be - he's been wondering about the possibility of it more and more lately with what the alpha pack wants - but he's tried not to think about it. He's _scared_ to think about it. Even now, he puts the idea out of his head.

His dad sighs, apparently deciding to forego the sugar-coating. "Derek broke out last night."

And in a split second, Stiles' world feels like it's crashing down around him. The room is suddenly spinning, his heart is hammering in his chest and he _knows _he can feel an oncoming panic attack. It has to be a joke. It has to, right? The hospital is high security. Just about as high security as the prison. There was no way that Derek could have broken out. Right? If he could have, he would have a long time ago. The bars on his cell were thick. Sturdy. Not even a werewolf could break through those, _right?_

He shakes his head back and forth frantically, which doesn't help with the spinning. "No," He manages to choke out. No. There's no way. He saw him just two days ago, and there's no way he could have gotten out of that cell. He was weak. Still stronger than most humans, but he was weak for Derek. He was like a caged animal. There was no way…

He can feel his dad's hand on his own, but he can't bring himself to look up at him.

_No. It can't be true._

"How?" Stiles manages to croak out, still on the verge of a panic attack. He's struggling to take deep, heaving breaths, and he can feel his dad's other hand rubbing his back softly.

_How? How did it happen? Why are we just now finding out?_

"They didn't even notice he was gone until this morning," His dad says, but his voice sounds far away. Stiles struggles to register it. "They said that he was wearing a cook's clothes in the security footage. They're still trying to find out how he got out, but they said he had help."

_Help? Who would want to help Derek? Unless, of course, he was working with the alpha pack…_

"We're not sure about that, but that's what we're thinking," Chris says, and Stiles suddenly realizes that he said that part out loud.

_Of course. How could you be so stupid? You were their little messenger boy._

"What?" Chris asks, confused.

_Right._ Thinking out loud again. "Nothing," Stiles says numbly, shaking his head.

"You're our top priority," His dad finally says, once Stiles takes a few more breaths to calm down, "Hence the cruiser outside. We've also got another undercover down the street."

"And I've got a couple of people around here and at Scott's," Chris assures, giving him a short, tight lipped smile.

Stiles knows that Derek has the abilities to sneak past the cops and the hunters easily, but he tries not to think about it. Maybe since his dad knows about werewolves, there will be a little extra security, _right?_

As if on cue, Chris leans over to a duffel bag, grabbing something from it. "You probably won't have to use it," He says, setting a handgun in front of Stiles on the table, and _oh God_, he can feel another panic attack coming on, "But your dad and I both agreed that you should have it for now. For protection. He says you know how to shoot."

Stiles glances from Chris to his dad, and when he doesn't hear any argument, he realizes that they're dead serious. _Oh God. _They're serious. Very serious. "And they're…"

"Wolf's bane," Chris finishes the thought, "Yes."

"Please don't let that scare you, Stiles," His dad chimes in, voice as reassuring as it can be, given the circumstances, "It's to help you feel safe."

"It's not the _gun_ that scares me…" Stiles mutters under his breath, reaching forward to run his hand over the cool metal. Chris and his father pretend not to hear him.

"You're on lockdown for the time being," His dad says, "At least between here and Scott's. His mom will know all about this as well. But no school, alight? You don't need that on top of this. At least for a week or so."

Stiles wants to joke about how he already has a hard enough time concentrating, but his mouth his dry. Instead, he swallows and nods.

"Everything's going to be fine," His dad says, but Stiles can tell that he's lying. He's not just saying it to make Stiles' feel better, but to try to convince himself as well.

When Stiles closes his eyes, he can see red ones staring back at him.

* * *

**AN:** _Chapter title and lyrics are from the song "Silence Is Screaming" by In Fear And Faith_


	6. What Have I Become?

**_What Have I Become?_**

* * *

_I let you down_  
_And I started to run_  
_Never meant to be your pain_  
_Oh my God, what have I become?_

* * *

Nothing happens.

For a week, nothing happens. There aren't any murders and there aren't any signs of the alpha pack. Most importantly, Derek doesn't try to find Stiles. And that worries Stiles more than it should. For over a year, he's wondered what exactly went on Derek's head - what had messed him up so badly, what made him think it was okay to kill - and if Stiles learned anything, it was that Derek wouldn't want to leave around unfinished business. And while him not coming around is a good thing, it feels like a ticking time bomb to Stiles. Eventually, Derek is going to crack. It's just a matter of time.

He doesn't go to school for the entire week, and his father plans on keeping him out longer. At the rate things are going, Stiles is going to have a lot of catching up to do, but he can't bring himself to care. He's worried. His dad seems a little more at ease with each day that passes without incident, though, so he doesn't voice his concerns to him.

In fact, things are reasonably normal - there's only one cruiser on watch on Stiles' street now - by the beginning of the second week. Until Monday morning, however. Until Stiles wakes up to more police officers than usual in his house, talking to his dad - who looks _wrecked_ - and gets stopped when he tries to see what everybody is looking at. It's out on the street - there's plenty of other officers out there too - and he can't see what they're looking at from his angle.

"Let me see," He begs, trying to push past the officer with no avail. It's his house, _damn it_. His safety. He has a right to know. He _needs_ to know. He needs to know if it was Derek. Just the thought causes his heart to race.

"Stiles..." His dad tries to argue, but apparently breaks down when his son shoots him a pleading look because then he's nodding a little. "Let him through."

Stiles is out in the front yard at that, walking toward the police cruiser that had been out front last night and - _oh_.

The passenger window is smeared with blood from the inside, red and dark and eerie, as if someone purposely painted it that way. He swallows hard, nervous. As he nears the front of the car, he catches a few weary looks from officers and takes a deep breath and then-

And then he's staring - gaping - wide-eyed at the windshield. He's not sure if he should be relieved or not when he comes to the realization that it _wasn't_ Derek who killed the officer - who's slumped over the steering wheel, covered in a white sheet - but that it was the alpha pack yet again. He knows, because despite the fact that Derek has killed countless people, he always thought in some sick, twisted way, that they deserved it. Stiles_ knows_ that this officer didn't deserve it. Which means that Derek knows, too. That, and the fact that there are words smeared out onto the windshield in blood. A message.

_Your move._

Stiles knows the message isn't meant for him, or his dad or Chris or any of the police officers trying to figure out what it means.

It's meant for Derek.

* * *

"They're writing you love notes now," Peter says, walking into his apartment on Monday morning. Derek is sitting at the kitchen table, trying to eat breakfast, but he can't seem to hold it down, which is partially due to the fact that he's watching a live news report from outside of the Stilinski residence.

"_The main suspect so far is escaped convict, Derek Hale, who was arrested for the attempted murder of the Sheriff's seventeen year old son last year_," The woman on screen is saying, which makes rage bubble up inside of Derek because he _didn't_ kill the officer. He didn't deserve it. He was just another piece in the alpha pack's game and-

"Hello, earth to Derek," Peter calls, waving his hand in front of his face, "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I-" Derek starts, pointing at the television.

Peter sighs dramatically, "Yeah, and if you had been listening to _me _you would have heard me say that I paid them a visit this morning to see it myself."

"You... What?" Derek manages, eyes comically wide.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a master of disguise, I know," Peter mumbles, waving his hand dismissively, "Don't you want to know what it said?"

"What?" Derek asks, cocking his head.

"The message. For you," Peter replies, obviously agitated, "I'm assuming they didn't mention it on the news..."

"Message?"

"Jesus Christ," Peter mutters, grabbing the remote to turn the TV off, "Yes. Message. In blood. Car's windshield."

"I'm listening," Derek says, leaning forward.

"_Your move_, buddy."

* * *

When Peter said _your move, _Derek is sure that he didn't mean _this_ or _now_, but he can't help it. The second he's left alone in his house, Derek is throwing on some shoes and a leather jacket - of course - and slamming the door behind him. It's dark by the time he leaves - Peter had left not more than five minutes ago to grab them something to eat - and he foregoes taking the car in favor for running there, assuming it would draw too much attention if the Stilinski residence is as heavily guarded as he assumes that it will be, after what happened.

The crime scene has been cleaned up (of course) by the time that Derek gets there. The body is gone, but the car is still there, parked in the same place across the street from the house, message still splayed loudly over the windshield. It's roped off by crime scene tape, but it doesn't stop Derek from getting a good look, even from where he's lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opening.

All he needs is a second. A split second where someone in the undercover cars sneezes or looks down at the radio or _something_ and he can make it to the house and through the window before anyone sees. If he counted right, there's three undercover cars sitting on the street, as well as two of Chris Argent's men down a ways. He _definitely_ hadn't missed _them_.

Only one of the cars _really_ overlooks the house and the area across the street, whereas the other two keep watch of the surrounding area. Which means that Derek just has to wait until the two men inside get distracted enough for him to make a break for it.

He sits in the shadows, waiting for his opportunity for a good ten minutes before one officer glances down to look at the time and the other goes to take a sip of their coffee. He's up and sprinting in a fraction of a second sneaking past the car with ease and is hidden by the tree in the front yard in seconds. And when a car coming slowly down the street distracts them again, Derek is scaling the side of the house quickly, jumping onto the roof, light on his feet, and picking the lock on the window before jumping inside. He's standing in Stiles' dark room before the car even passes the house, and he can't help but smile to himself at that.

_Still got it_.

He quickly realizes that the room is unoccupied - Stiles is probably downstairs, it's about dinner time - and he takes a moment to familiarize himself with the room again. It's pretty much the same, though he figured not much would have changed in the course of a year. He lets himself take a deep breath through his nose, breathing in Stiles' scent, much stronger than it had been on his hands in that prison cell a week ago. He feels a shudder run through his body at that. Just a little over a week ago, Stiles was visiting him - a caged animal - and now he's _free_.

He can hear Stiles' and his father and - _God damn it _- Chris Argent talking downstairs, wondering aloud if it was the alpha pack or _Derek_ who left the nasty note on the cop car. Derek leans against Stiles' bedroom wall at that, listening in on the conversation.

_"It had to have been Hale,"_ Chris is arguing, voice somewhat angry. Stressed._ "He escapes and a week later, a police officer is killed right in front of your house? And the message. Don't even get me started on the message."_

_"What, you think it was meant for us?"_ The Sheriff speaks up, _"What exactly is 'your move' supposed to mean? I don't think that he would be stupid enough to-"_

_"It wasn't him,"_ Derek hears Stiles cut him off abruptly, and he can't help but grin with pride. Stiles knows him well. Knows how his mind works. Of course he does, he's probably been dwelling over it for over a year now. _"I think it was meant for him."_

_"Meant for him?"_ Chris echoes,_ "That doesn't make any sense."_

_"Sure it does," _Stiles replies simply, _"The message at the last house. Get him. It wasn't meant for us. It was meant for whoever broke him out. This is the same exact thing, only it was meant for Derek."_

_"So what is 'your move' supposed to mean?" _Chris questions, skeptical.

Stiles is quiet for a long moment, and Derek is _certain_ that he knows the answer, but he doesn't say it. Instead he just sighs. _"I don't know."_

It's silent downstairs for a minute or two, and for a fleeting second, Derek worries that he's been caught. That somehow, someone saw him. Thankfully, though, he hears the Sheriff speak up at last. _"Why don't you get some rest, Stiles? I'll order some food if you're hungry, but you look exhausted."_

_"I'm not-" _Stiles goes to argue, but is cut off.

_"Please," _His father begs, _"Get some rest."_

Stiles agrees after a long pause, and Derek takes that as his cue, straightening his posture against the wall, waiting. He listens as Stiles slowly climbs the stairs, pausing in the bathroom for a minute, and continues his way down the hall. Derek wills his heart to stop pounding, but he can't help it. Not with the thought that the last time the two of them were here, his hand was buried deep inside of Stiles' stomach and his blood was spilling out onto the floor. He's sure that if he sniffed hard enough, he could still smell the blood on the hardwood floor...

_Focus_.

Stiles' footsteps pause for a long moment outside of the door and Derek can hear him swallow hard, as if he knows what's waiting for him on the other side, before he pushes the door open.

Derek waits until the door is fully closed behind him before emerging from the shadows and proceeding to slam Stiles up against the wall, both hands on his shoulders. Surprisingly, Stiles doesn't scream. He's been expecting it all day. Every time he walked around a corner in his house, he had expected Derek to be there. Ever since he saw the bloody message on the car, he knew that it was only a matter of time. So he can't say he's surprised when Derek slams him against the wall and covers his mouth with one hand.

He can't say he's surprised, but he definitely can't say that he's not terrified. Last time he and Derek were this close to one another, well...

He swallows hard from behind the hand.

"Not a word," Derek hisses out from behind clenched teeth. His eyes are hard as they stare into Stiles, who glares back at him, challenging him. Derek leans forward at that, a small growl rumbling in his throat, "Or I finish what I started. Understand?"

Stiles manages a nod from beneath his hand at that, and when Derek decides that he isn't going to try anything, he removes it. Stiles sucks in a deep breath at the loss of it, his body slumping slightly forward. He doesn't say anything right away, as Derek had expected him to. Instead he just stands there silently, catching his breath and trying to keep his composure.

Internally, Stiles is panicking. All day, he's been expecting Derek, but it doesn't mean he's any more mentally prepared for it. He can feel Derek's hands pressing his shoulders up against the wall, his body holding him squarely in place. He couldn't escape even if he tried. He's trapped. He's trapped, and his mind can't help but travel back to the last time they were this close, and he shudders. So he doesn't scream for his dad or Chris. He doesn't, because Derek's hands are so close to his neck, all it would take is one swift movement with his claws and he'd be bleeding out on the floor. Or maybe Derek would even make good on his promise to rip his throat out.

"How's freedom treating you?" Stiles finally rasps out, throat dry. He doesn't ask why Derek is waiting for him in his room. He knows. He's known since he saw the challenge written out in blood on the police car.

"Fine until now," Derek manages back, still pressing hard against Stiles.

"What did you expect?" He shoots back, "It's a game to them. They're out for blood. Specifically yours, I'm assuming. It was only a matter of time..."

"So you know why I'm here," Derek says at last, voice low.

"Of course," Stiles replies without even giving it a second thought, "The police officer didn't deserve it. They're doing it to get under your skin."

Derek chuckles slightly at that, loosening his grip on Stiles slightly. "For someone who's had a year to try to figure it out, you still don't get it."

Stiles narrows his eyes at that, challenging him. "Oh really?"

"It's not just the death of the police officer that they were trying to get to me with," Derek explains, eyes hard. He presses into Stiles again.

Stiles' eyes suddenly widen in realization. He clears his throat, "So, what? It's like some territorial thing?"

"Yeah, something like that," Derek replies softly.

It's quiet for a long moment before Stiles speaks up again, "And now what? They're going to come after me?"

Derek's body slumps at that. He's been trying to figure that out since the moment he found out that the alpha pack was in town and messing with Stiles. If they were going to come after him why haven't they done it yet? If they wanted Stiles dead, he would be in a heartbeat. But he's not. They want him alive, but why? Maybe it _is_ just a game to them. Maybe it's just a cure for boredom. "I don't know," Derek finally mutters out, ashamed to show any sign of weakness, especially in front of Stiles.

"Great," Stiles retorts, straightening his posture, "Well I don't need _you_ babysitting me, especially if they're not going to hurt me."

"Stiles..." Derek grits out. A warning.

"You tried to _kill_ me," Stiles hisses out, daring to lean his face in close to Derek's.

"And I'm not letting _them_ finish the job," Derek growls right back, accepting Stiles' challenge. He presses him harder into the wall, hard enough to cause Stiles to wince underneath his grip.

"Why not?" Stiles shoots back, voice laced with hate. He's seething now, eyes bearing into Derek. If looks could kill... "I deserve it, _don't I_?" Stiles tone is mocking, using Derek's own words and method against him. It's a big risk - if Derek got fed up with his attitude, he could kill him right now - but Stiles saw the look of doubt in his eyes when he mentioned the alpha pack. He knows that Derek is scared, too. He knows that Derek needs him alive. Or he hopes, at least.

"If _anyone_ is going to kill you," Derek hisses, leaning in close, "It's going to be _me_."

Stiles sucks in a breath at that, preparing himself for the worst, but it doesn't come. Instead, Derek loosens his grip on him. He doesn't pull away completely, but it eases the pain in Stiles' back and shoulders. "Poetic. But you need me, don't you?" Stiles asks, feeling a bit more confident, "If you want to stop them, you're going to need me."

Derek doesn't say anything in response, just looks down. In the year that Stiles had to think about him - to study him - he must have learned his weak spots, too. When he's silent in response, Stiles speaks up again, "Why do you care so much?"

"What?" Derek asks, looking back up at him.

"About stopping them. Why do you care?" Stiles repeats, "You didn't _care_ who you killed. You probably still don't. So why does it matter to you if they're killing people?"

"I told you," Derek replies, voice low, "They don't deserve it. Maybe I don't want to play their game."

"And the people you killed did," Stiles scoffs, tone mocking, "What, do you think you're some kind of _vigilante_? Ridding the world of arsonists and women who might be cheating on their husbands? Great job, Derek. You're a real stand up guy."

Derek slams him up against the wall again at that, hard enough for Stiles head to hit it with a loud _thunk_. He closes his eyes tight in pain as Derek squeezes his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. "Shut the _fuck_ up," Derek growls, voice hard.

Stiles opens his eyes at that, and he looks scared - _terrified_, actually - but he somehow manages to hold his ground. "You killed your own _sister, _Derek. You tried to kill your _friend._ I was your _friend_ once, remember?" When Derek doesn't say anything in response, Stiles spits, "You're just as bad as them."

Derek can feel himself about to shift at that, claws jutting out, bones popping, and Stiles stares at him, eyes wide because red ones are staring back at him again. _Red ones_, just like in his nightmares. Like the ones that stared down at him over a year ago. Apparently freedom had done Derek some good, because they're not the pale blue color that they had been in that cell, and Stiles can't help but wonder what _pack_ Derek has now. He feels his body shrink in fear, trying to escape. He's sure he looks pathetic, cowering down underneath Derek, but he can't help it.

Just as Stiles thinks that it's all over, though - just when he expects the sharp pain in his stomach again or ripping at his throat - Derek is pulling away completely, letting go of him and watching him slump to the floor like a rag doll. Stiles whimpers like a wounded animal, body curling in on itself and shaking with an oncoming panic attack and-

And for the first time in a long time - since _Laura_, maybe - Derek feels guilty. As he watches Stiles, cowering and shaking on the dark bedroom floor - the same floor that he tried to _kill_ him on, claws digging deep into soft flesh - he feels _bad_. And it's the first time he's felt that way in a very long time.

_You're just as bad as them._

Stiles words ring out in his head.

He's a monster.

* * *

**AN:**_Chapter title and lyrics are from the song "Tangled In The Great Escape" by Pierce The Veil (feat. Jason Butler)_


	7. Hope For You

**_Hope For You_**

* * *

_I was wrong  
__Something in me still has hope for you_

_I don't know why_  
_Everyone is not as good as they seem_

* * *

Derek Hale hates himself. He hates himself a little when he kills that first person in New York, a suspected arsonist, just out of jail, living in the same apartment complex as him and Laura. He hates himself a little more every time he kills someone, but he tells himself that it's worth it. That they deserve it. That if he couldn't stop Kate - if he couldn't find or kill Kate Argent - that ridding the world of people like her one by one would suffice. It doesn't stop him from hating himself, but it eases the pain.

Derek never hates himself more than after he kills Laura, though.

And when Scott and Stiles accuse him of it - when they have him arrested in front of his house, her grave dug up - he knows he deserves it. Though he's angry and wants to kill them too, he's willing to accept his fate. In fact, he's almost relieved when they arrest him. He accepts it, even though he could easily break out of the cuffs and escape. He deserves it, and he's willing to live with his punishment. He's not surprised, however, when he's released the same day. Laura's death had been an animal attack.

Derek isn't sure if he feels relieved or not when he's released. Innocent.

He wants to kill Scott and Stiles for putting him though it, but Laura's words ring out in his head. Words she had been screaming at him before he snapped.

_They don't deserve it, Derek_.

It's not necessarily what she meant - she was talking about _everyone_ he had killed - but he decides to take her words to heart that night. And he doesn't snap again - doesn't hurt anyone who he thinks doesn't deserve it - until that fateful night at Stiles' house. Even as he's walking slowly up to Stiles - terrified, innocent Stiles - fully aware of what he's about to do, Laura's words are screaming out in his head.

_He doesn't deserve it_.

Derek is almost relieved when the sheriff shows up, gun pointed at him. This time, there's no way that Derek will be set free. He knows, as the sheriff cuffs him tight, that it's the last time he'll be free, and he's surprisingly okay with it. He's been running for too long. He's tired. He knows that once he's gone, Beacon Hills will be a better place. The alpha pack will leave and Scott and Stiles can get on with their lives, and even Peter - Peter, who's kept all of his secrets - will be able to move on. And he's certain, as the paramedics take him away, that if they get Stiles to the hospital in time that he'll survive.

He spends the first few months in that cage hating himself. Regretting the decisions that led him there. He finds himself wondering where he'd be if he hadn't hurt Laura. If he would have let her help him...

In time, he comes to accept things, though. He can't change the past, and he can't change who he is. So he embraces it. He comes to accept who - and what - he is.

_A monster._

And he never really thinks of that as a bad thing until he sees Stiles again, cowering on the bedroom floor, expecting the worst. He's just as bad as the alpha pack, hurting innocent people. People who don't deserve it. Laura's words ring out in his head once more - _they don't deserve it _- before he's rushing out of Stiles' room, jumping out the window, and disappearing into the dark.

* * *

Stiles knows that Derek is watching him.

Though he doesn't seem him at all for the following week, he knows that Derek is keeping an eye on him. If he knows anything about Derek, he knows that he doesn't give up that easily.

He doesn't really know what to think about his encounter with Derek, either. After a week of going over every single detail in his head - over-analyzing everything that happened and trying to figure out what his motive was - Stiles still can't make sense of it. Derek was all intimidating seriousness and anger when Stiles had first walked into his bedroom, and by the time he left - in the blink of an eye out the window - he looked scared. Which didn't make any sense, because Stiles was sure that he didn't look very intimidating cowering in fear on the floor.

After a week of trying to work it out, Stiles still can't seem to figure out what Derek was trying to do.

But he knows he's watching him. He knows, when he sees a little flash of movement out of the corner of his eye on his way to Scott's house to catch up on missed school work. And he knows, when a body shows up in the woods a week after their encounter.

"Ripped in half," Stiles' dad says to Chris Argent and a couple of his men late that night, explaining what they found in the woods. He then slides a photo across the table for Chris to see. "Do you think he was one of the Alphas?"

Chris studies the photo silently for a few moment before scratching at the back of his head. "It could be," He finally says, "He _is_ ripped in half. And that's definitely one way to kill a werewolf. And it looks nothing like the murders that the alpha pack committed So it's probably someone else..." He keeps talking, even when Stiles gets up to hover over his shoulder, studying the photo. He's never seen the man in it before - he looks like he was in his mid-twenties, dark brown hair, plain clothes and _yeah_ he's definitely been ripped in half. Just like...

Stiles swallows hard.

_Just like Laura Hale had been. _

It was Derek. He just knows it.

"There," Stiles says, pointing to a spot in the upper part of the photograph, "Wolf's bane. Right _there_."

"He's right," Chris says, passing the photo back to the sheriff. There's a little purple flower growing a few feet away from the man's head, almost ignored by whoever took the photo. Of course. Why would they think to look for wolf's bane?

"You think it's-" He starts to repeat his earlier question, but Chris is already nodding.

"More than likely."

"And you think that Hale-" He's unable to finish that one, glancing worriedly up at Stiles, who is gnawing on his lip, staring down at the photo still.

"Yeah," Chris says softly.

The thing is, the fact that Derek killed one of the alphas doesn't worry Stiles. In fact, it actually makes him feel a little better about things. At least _someone_ is taking care of the problem.

And yeah, it's definitely a fucked up way of thinking. Stiles is completely aware of that. He's aware that he probably needs to see a therapist because he's actually _glad_ that the man who tried to kill him is killing again, but he can't help it, because part of him - a part of him _deep down_, that he tries not to acknowledge - is grateful.

Because Derek is watching out for him.

At first, he wonders if you can get Stockholm Syndrome even if the person in question isn't keeping you captive. He even researches it, and doesn't feel much better when he reads that he doesn't necessarily have to be in a hostage situation to develop it. And he can't help but wonder if that's what is going on, because there's no way that he'd actually be grateful for Derek killing someone, _right_?

_"Stockholm syndrome can be seen as a form of traumatic bonding, which does not necessarily require a hostage scenario, but which describes 'strong emotional ties that develop between two persons where one person intermittently harasses, beats, threatens, abuses, or intimidates the other,'" _Stiles reads the last part of the paragraph out loud before slamming his laptop closed.

"No," He murmurs to himself, shaking his head back and forth. That can't be it. It has to be something else.

He can't be that _weak_.

Of course he's happy that one of the alphas is dead. They're _killing_ innocent people. And if Derek can end that, then Stiles is grateful. But he _doesn't_ have Stockholm Syndrome. He can't. He's stronger than that. _Right?_

He makes a promise to himself that night, that once everything is over - once the alpha pack is either dead or gone - he'll tell his dad about Derek. And then he can go back to prison, and everything will be back to normal.

_Right?_

* * *

Things are relatively normal and calm up until about halfway through the second week of no Derek. Nothing really happens, until Stiles is driving to Scott's house one evening - the sun is _just_ about to go down - and he hears a loud _bang_ on the roof of the jeep. The force of whatever hits the top of it is enough to rock the car and Stiles almost over-corrects into a ditch. Thankfully, he doesn't. He does, however, pull over to make sure nothing is wrong with his car, and that's his first mistake.

The second that Stiles starts slowing, car making its way to the side of the road, he glances to his right and does his best _not _to scream like a girl when he sees a _hand_ gripping the side of his jeep, making its way in through the open window. A hand - a _human_ hand - which means there is _someone_ on the roof of his car. Only not just any someone, because there are _claws_ and -

Stiles immediately regrets leaving the gun that his father gave him for _protection_ at the house, especially when the figure starts climbing down, and _especially_ when he can see Aiden's smirking face. And especially when he's pulling the door roughly open and crawling into the Jeep, teeth bared.

"Uh, hey man," Stiles breathes, voice small, "Haven't seen you in a while." The car is at a complete stop by now and Aiden keeps moving, crawling over the passenger seat. Stiles starts scrambling at that, feeling the space between them in the Jeep shrinking quickly and he fumbles for the handle on his door, hoping he doesn't fall out like an _idiot_ and he can't help but panic because _he can't die. Not like this._ If he's going to go out, he doesn't want it to be like a coward on the side of a deserted road where nobody can come to his help.

And then suddenly, the door is opening and there's a pair of hands catching Stiles as he almost falls out backwards. He feels relieved at first - _finally_, someone came to his rescue - but then the relief turns to worry because _doesn't Aiden have a twin?_ And are those _claws_ Stiles feels at his back?

He gulps, "Scott, please tell me that's you."

He hears a growl erupt from behind him - _definitely_ not Scott- and Aiden is snarling before him, and he holds his breath. _This is it._

"Stiles," There' suddenly a gruff voice in his ear - not Ethan and not Scott - and he tenses at the sound of it. He knows that voice all too well. "_Move_," He whispers, breath on the back of Stiles' neck, and he doesn't have to be told twice. He's scrambling at that, turning and _leaping_ out of the Jeep, gathering himself before watching _Derek Hale_ of all people, lunging across his jeep at Aiden.

The fight quickly takes to the ditch, just out of Stiles' sight, but he doesn't _want_ to watch. Not with the growls and whimpers and awful _tearing_ sounds that are coming from the other side of the jeep and he can't help but wonder if they're really fighting over who gets to _kill_ him. He swallows hard.

He _could_ just drive away. He could get in his jeep and drive away and tell Scott and get his dad and this could all be over, but he doesn't. Instead, Stiles stands there, frozen on the spot, listening to Derek and Aiden rip at each other.

It isn't until Derek actually stands up - and Stiles can see the blood on his hands, red and dripping and shining in the dimming sunlight - that Stiles is finally shaken out of his daze. "Stiles," Derek is saying, still standing in place, voice hard, "Go. _Now_."

And he doesn't need to be told twice, not with the angry way that Derek is looking at him. And definitely not with the way that the blood looks, all over Derek's clothes now that Stiles really looks, and not with the way that he can hear howling off in the distance. He's leaping in his Jeep without a second thought and pulling away so fast that the passenger door, which had still been hanging open, slams shut.

* * *

Stiles probably looks horribly shaken up by the time that he reaches Scott's house, fifteen minutes later. In fact, he _knows_ that he looks horribly shaken up, especially with the way that Scott looks at him when he answers the door.

"I was just about to call you, dude. You took forever. I was getting worried," Scott says, shooting a weary glance over his shoulder at Stiles as they head into the living room together.

"Sorry," Stiles replies, trying his best to play it cool and shrug it off, "I got caught up." He decides that the last thing he needs is for Scott to put Allison's dad or any of his friends in the line of fire. Derek obviously has things under control - at least a little bit - and he'd rather not have their blood on his hands.

Scott turns around to face Stiles and cocks his head to the side, "You sure you're okay?"

Stiles swallows hard at that. He forgot that Scott could probably tell if he's lying. "Yeah, I'm fine," He still manages, though, trying his best to believe his own words.

"No, you're not," Scott says softly, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

Stiles shakes his head almost too fast, "Nothing, it's no big deal."

"Yeah, it is," Scott argues, taking a step closer to Stiles. He glances down at his hands, which are clenched into fists, shaking at his sides. "Dude, you're shaking. What's going on?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Scott replies, pushing. He takes another step closer voice low, "_Stiles. _I smelled him the moment you walked in the door."

"_What_?" Stiles asks, his eyes meeting the ones he's been trying to avoid, "Smelled_ who_?"

"You know who," Scott says softly, and Stiles quickly realizes that he's only beating around the bush because his mom is in the next room, and he probably doesn't want to alarm her. His eyes widen a little at Stiles' sharp intake of breath, "You've seen him, haven't you?"

Stiles lets out a deep sigh at that and gives in, nodding, "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott whispers harshly, "Or your dad or Chris-" Scott cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his face. He paces in front of Stiles a couple of times before continuing, sounding like an angry parent, "Did he hurt you?"

"_No_," Stiles says, almost too fast. The fact that he's actually _jumping _to Defend Derek should surprise him a little more than it does. "I'm fine."

"What happened?" Scott pushes again, voice low, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I _just_ saw him," Stiles whispers back. It's only a half lie. He _did_ just see Derek, it just wasn't his first time seeing him since he broke out. "Aiden attacked me."

Stiles eyes widen, "_What_?"

"Yeah," Stiles breaths back, as if he can't believe it either, "Jumped on top of my jeep. He was probably going to rip my throat out, too, but then-" He cuts himself off, unsure if he should tell Scott the whole truth or not.

"_But then_..." Scott pushes.

"But then Derek showed up," Stiles blurts, apparently deciding that truth is his best option, "He uh... He _saved _me. I don't know if Aiden is dead, but there was a lot of blood and then..."

_Stiles. Go. Now. _Derek had looked so concerned for him.

He shakes himself out of it, "And then I left."

"You don't think he followed you?" Scott asks immediately, going to the window and glancing outside.

"No," Stiles replies almost too quickly, surprised at how sure he is. "He's not that dumb."

Scotts eyes widen at that, all of the information finally hitting him. "We have to tell-"

"_No,_" Stiles says, voice suddenly loud and catching the attention of Scott's mom in the other room. Thankfully, she just smiles at him before looking back down at her book. "No," Stiles repeats, quieter, shaking his head.

"And why is that?" Scott asks, crossing his arms, visibly frustrated.

"Because if he _did_ kill Aiden, then maybe he's handling this alpha pack thing just fine on his own," Stiles says, before he realizes what he's saying. Before he realizes that he's actually _defending_ Derek. "I'd be willing to bet that he was the one who killed the other alpha in the woods, too. Derek's gotten closer to getting rid of the alpha pack in weeks than my dad and the hunters have in months. I'm not complaining."

"Stiles, are you seriously-"

"And I don't want to be trapped in my room anymore," Stiles throws in quickly, shooting Scott a pleading look. He doesn't want to have to answer Scott's unfinished question. "If I tell my dad about Derek, there's no way that he'll let me out of the house again. I swear to God, dude, I'll go crazy if I have to sit in there for another day."

"But-"

"I'll be careful," He presses, and he can't help but feel like he's trying to convince a parent, "I'll take that gun that my dad gave me everywhere. I'll use it if I have to. Just, _please_, don't say anything."

Scott stares at him for a long moment after that before finally letting out a deep breath. "Alright, fine."

"Thank you-"

"_But_," Scott adds, taking a step forward, "If I think you're being reckless or stupid or putting yourself in danger, I'm telling your dad. That's that."

"Fair enough."

"Because I can't bear to lose my best friend _again_," Scott adds with a pleading look.

* * *

**AN: **_Chapter title and lyrics are from the song "I Swear I'll Change (acoustic)" by Attack Attack!_


	8. I Did This To You

_**I Did This To You**_

* * *

_I'm horrified by my potential  
I am so capable of terrible things_

* * *

Derek is waiting in his room for him when Stiles gets home that night.

Honestly, he's not all that surprised when he opens his bedroom door to find Derek sitting on his bed, looking down at his hands. It's a scene that he'd gotten used to when he and Derek used to be friends. He'd walk in his room and Derek would be standing awkwardly by the window, or sitting (or laying, in a few cases) on his bed. Stiles would joke about it, call Derek a creep, and then ask what he needed help with. Because whenever he was sitting in his room, waiting on him, it was because he needed him.

When Derek looks up at him as the bedroom door clicks shut, Stiles finds himself wondering if Derek needs him again.

At this point, his heart rate only spikes a little bit when he sees Derek. It shouldn't be like that. He should be much more nervous around the man that tried to _kill_ him. Especially when it's only the fourth time that he's seen Derek since that happened. But his pulse only rises a little bit when he sees Derek waiting for him on his bed. It rises about as much as it used to. Only back then, Stiles was nervous because he might have had a crush on Derek. (_Might have_ because he never really got the chance to think about it too much before Derek tried to _kill _him.) And _now_, Stiles is nervous because... well, Derek tried to _kill_ him.

Stiles _is not_ going to be the first to speak. Though he has a million things he wants to say -

_Why are you following me? How long have you been here? Why are you here? What are you doing? What do you want?_

- he refuses to speak first. He's _always_ the one doing all the talking, and it's about damn time that Derek does some explaining, because a few weeks ago, he was looking at Stiles like he was a piece of meat and now... _Now_ he's saving him and sitting on his bed and waiting for him to get home and looking _sorry._

"Stiles-"

"Why are they after me?" Stiles blurts as soon as Derek speaks, then mentally curses himself for caving so easily.

"What?" Derek asks, confused. Apparently he hadn't been expecting for Stiles to want to talk about _that_.

"The alpha pack, why are they after _me_?" Stiles asks, hands shaking already. Part of him is a little scared to know the answer.

"Honestly?" Derek asks, to which Stiles nods. "To get to me," He sighs out after a moment, "You used to be my pack. They know that hurting you will get to me." It's short, and Stiles knows that there's more to it, but he's not sure if he can bear to hear any more.

He stares at Derek for a long moment, trying to decide how he feels about the new bit of information - the fact that Derek basically just _told_ him that he's still part of his pack - before he steers the topic away. He can't think about it. Not now. "Is he dead?" He asks instead.

"What?" Derek asks, apparently surprised that Stiles didn't want to know more about what he just told him.

"Aiden," He clarifies, "Is he dead? Did you-" He chokes off the last words because he _can't_ say them.

Derek nods at that, looking down, "Yeah."

"Right."

It's quiet for a long moment, Stiles avoiding looking at the man on his bed, and Derek staring down at his hands before Stiles finally speaks again, unable to stay quiet. "The rest of the pack?"

"We're working on it," Derek replies, voice low. It's apparent that he came to talk about things _other_ than the alpha pack, but Stiles can't do that just yet. Not now.

"_We_?" Stiles asks, suddenly nervous. He glances around his room, making sure that he didn't miss another person, lurking in the shadows.

"You're _fine,_" Derek says, when Stiles begins to panic, "It's just Peter. And he's not here."

"_Peter_?" Stiles asks, eyes widening. As if that was supposed to make him feel better. "_Just Peter_? As in your crazy-" He pauses at that, realizing that Derek and Peter have more in common than he had originally thought, "As in your Uncle? The one that you set on fire and _killed_?"

"Yeah," Derek huffs out, "Long story. He's alive."

Stiles breaths out a nervous laugh at that, "Great."

"You're fine," Derek replies, "He's not going to hurt you. And he's not even here. It's just me and you."

"As if that's supposed to make me feel better," Stiles mutters under his breath, but he _knows_ that Derek can hear it.

"_Anyway_," Derek says, steering the conversation again, "We're working on it. After Aiden, we took care of his brother. We think there's only three left."

"Great," Stiles mutters. After a long pause, he adds, "You know they were just kids, right? My age."

"They were. But they were also idiots. They made their bed. They tried to kill you," Derek argues softly, looking up at Stiles.

"So did you."

Derek huffs out a breath, "That's not -" Stiles raises his eyebrows in response, even going so far as to cross his arms, and Derek sighs in defeat. "They were killing innocent people. _A lot _of innocent people."

"Yeah, yeah, and they deserved what they got, I get it," Stiles finishes, surprised at himself for even having the courage to talk to Derek that way.

"I didn't-" Derek starts, but stops himself, looking down at his hands again. When he finally looks back up at Stiles, his eyes are glossy, as if he's about to _cry_, which is just... Weird. In all the time that Stiles has known Derek, he's never seen him look like that. In all the time that Stiles has known him, he's never seen him open up _that_ much, and he can't help but wonder what changed. "I'm trying to right things, okay?" Derek finally manages, "They're killing innocent people, just because they were close to me. They're after _you_ just because you're close to me. If it weren't for me, they wouldn't even _be_ in Beacon Hills. Hell, if I hadn't-" He chokes on his words and has to take a deep breath before continuing, "If I hadn't tried to _kill_ you, I would have still been here, and they wouldn't have done any of this."

"Yeah, I also wouldn't be so emotionally and physically scarred, but you know... Greater good, right?" Stiles manages to choke out. It's only half sarcasm.

"Stiles..." Derek says softly, standing and taking a step forward. It isn't until Stiles takes a step back in return that he freezes, pained look on his face. "I'm trying to right things," He repeats, standing at a safe distance, "Starting with you."

"Well thank you," Stiles spits before he even thinks about it, voice laced with sarcasm.

Derek cocks his head to the side, "What?"

"For saving me today. I'd be dead if it weren't for you. Which is ironic," Stiles says quickly. He can feel his own eyes welling up with tears now and he's not even sure why. He manages to blink them away, though, and look back at Derek. "Really, thanks. I don't know how I survived without _you_ for an entire year."

"Stiles..." Derek breaths, "I'm not - I mean it, alright? I realize now how badly I fucked up..."

"And what made you realize that?" Stiles spits, "My lack of a social life? My fear that whenever I hear something outside at night, I think it's someone trying to _kill me_? The fact that for the first six months, my own _dad_ had to check my room for me - like a _little kid_ - because I was scared of the _monster _that might be in there? What was it, Derek? Really. Humor me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Stiles snaps, almost too loud. He chances a glance back to his closed door to make sure that nobody is coming to check on him.

"The way you looked at me the other night," He says, voice soft, careful. "Right before I left. It was the same look that Laura had when she found out about all of the horrible things I'd done. Like I was a monster. You even said it yourself. _I'm just like them_."

Derek takes a step forward and when Stiles doesn't recoil, just looks at him like he's curious, he takes it as a good sign. "I broke my sisters heart, and I couldn't take it, and I -" He chokes on his words, "I killed her. And then I almost did the same exact thing to you. Only what I did to you was worse, because you have to live with it..."

"Derek-" Stiles tries, but doesn't know what to say. He's backed up against his door, but he doesn't feel scared. Not like he did over a year ago. He can't decide if that's good or bad.

"There was a time when you actually _liked_ me," Derek says, managing a small, sad smile, "You and Scott... Isaac, Erica, Boyd... You were my pack." At that admission, Stiles finds himself wondering if _that's_ why Derek's eyes were red again - if he's _still_ part of Derek's pack_ -_ but he doesn't have a chance to ask, because Derek keeps speaking, "You were the closest things I had to a family since Laura, and I ruined that. I made the same mistake that made me lose her." He looks down for a moment, gathering himself before speaking again, "So I'm trying to make things right. And then I'll leave. You never have to see me again. Just... Let me make things right. Please."

"By killing them," Stiles goes to say, but it comes out as a small whisper.

"If there were any other way, I'd do it. But there isn't," Derek replies.

Stiles is quiet, studying Derek's face. He knows that he shouldn't believe him. That he should call for his dad and send Derek back to jail or grab the gun from his dresser and kill him and end things now, but he can't. Not with the way that Derek is looking at him. And yeah, maybe Stiles has Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe he _wants_ to be part of Derek's pack, or maybe he's just really fucked up, but there's something - he can't tell what it is - in Derek's eyes that makes him want to trust him.

"What do I have to do?" He finally asks.

"Trust me," Derek breaths, and Stiles realizes in that moment just how close he is - about as close as he was when he thrust his claws forward, deep into his stomach - and he sucks in a sharp breath. He should be screaming for help, but can't. "Can you do that?" Derek asks when Stiles doesn't say anything, "I know you used to."

"With my life," Stiles breaths before he even realizes what he's saying.

Derek manages a small, fond smile, "Can you do that again?"

"I can try," Stiles manages, voice tiny, and Derek smiles at that.

"Thank you."

And then, before he even realizes what he's doing, Derek is leaning in, pressing his lips tentatively to Stiles'. In his defense, Stiles sees it coming. There's plenty of moments when he could have stopped it - he could have pushed Derek away, screamed for help, told him to stop - but he doesn't. Instead, he lets it happen. He's not sure if it's because he's horribly fucked up due to recent events, or if it's because he has old, pent up feelings for Derek, but he lets the kiss happen, even pressing cautiously back into it after a few moments.

Derek doesn't touch him at first. It's just an innocent - if that's even _possible_ with Derek - kiss, lips pressing softly together. And even when he does touch, it's right before he pulls away, hand on the side of Stiles' face, gentle.

"Well that took long enough," Stiles mutters out, eyes still closed after they pull apart. For a moment, he even manages to imagine that it's almost two years ago - all the horrible things haven't happened yet, Stiles doesn't know about Derek and his past - and that it's just an innocent kiss.

"Yeah?" Derek asks, bringing Stiles back down to earth.

His eyes open and it takes him a second to realize that this is_ now_. That Derek is an escaped convict, put away for trying to _kill him_ and now he's in his room and kissing him and-

There's a lot wrong with that picture.

"I used to like you," Stiles breaths out as if he can't believe it, and he kind of regrets it when he sees the quick flash of pain on Derek's face, but he forces himself not to feel bad about it. Not when Derek's said - and done - much worse to him. And _wow_, his emotions are all over the place. There's _definitely_ something wrong with him. Something he'll think about, as soon as Derek stops looking at him like _that_.

There's this little smile tugging on the corners of his lips and Stiles is pretty sure it's the first _real _smile he's seen Derek smile in a very long time. Not the evil smirks and sarcastic grins from the prison cell, or even a few weeks ago. Part of him can't help but wonder if Derek is changing. And part of him wants to believe that he can. "I know," Derek breaths after a moment.

Stiles raises his eyebrows, "You know?"

"Werewolf. Remember?" Derek asks, smile widening a bit.

"Why didn't you do anything about it?" Stiles finds himself asking even though it meant to stay a _thought_ and only a thought.

"You were a kid," Derek answers simply.

"I still am."

Derek shakes his head, still smiling before leaning in again, apparently out of smart ass comments. "I've wanted to kiss you for a while now..."

"Really," Stiles breaths out. It's not really a question. He's not sure if he can even form one right now. But regardless, Derek answers.

"Before everything happened. When we were friends," He pauses, leaning in closer, and his voice is darker when he adds, "And then when you came to see me last month..." Stiles mind flashes back to Derek behind those bars, looking like a caged animal, and though it feels like eons ago, he can still remember Derek, gripping him hard through the bars, his breath hot on his neck. It sends a thrill up Stiles' spine and _yeah_, there's _definitely_ something wrong with him because that memory _shouldn't_ be turning him on like it is.

And then Derek is leaning in and kissing Stiles again. This time it's rougher; his hand comes up to tangle in Stiles' hair, the other one snaking down his side and Stiles can't help but lean into it because _nobody_ has ever kissed him like that, and it's making his head spin. The taste of Derek fills his mouth, musky and masculine and his tongue presses in hard and persistent and _that's_ the Derek that Stiles knows. Tough, demanding, and dangerous. In a split second, Derek could turn the kiss into something else. He could snap and bite down, or thrust his hand forward again, finishing what he started a year ago. And though that should _scare _Stiles, like it always has, it just makes things all the more tempting.

His hand trails around Stiles hips, teasing with the front of his shirt, and before Stiles knows what he's doing, he's lifting up the fabric, skin on skin. Stiles tenses slightly at the action but manages to keep kissing back, even letting a quiet whimper out of his mouth, to be swallowed up by Derek.

Derek moves his mouth away at that to mouth at Stiles' neck softly, even taking a chance and nibbling when he tilts his head, allowing access. "Beautiful..." Derek mutters against his skin, sliding his hand up and into his shirt.

And then Derek's hand is flat against Stiles' stomach, moving up until his fingers carefully come in contact with his scar and-

And suddenly, something sparks inside of Stiles that causes him to pull away abruptly, even shoving at Derek's shoulders to push him away. He immediately pulls down at his shirt, covering up his stomach and his scar again, and steps to the side, trying to get as far away from Derek as possible. His other hand comes up to cover his mouth and he stares in shock, trying to wrap his mind around what happened and _he's standing in the exact spot now, where Derek tried to take his life._

Suddenly, the whole room feels like it's spinning and Stiles can't think - he can't even _breathe_ - and he's slumping on the floor, back against the wall. He sucks in sharp, shallow breaths, attempting to calm himself, but nothing helps. He tries to will himself out of it - tries to tell himself that he's okay, that Derek is halfway across the room and he isn't going to hurt him - but that doesn't help because Derek _is in his room_ and they were kissing and he _has_ hurt him. The scar on his stomach - the one that Derek just _touched_ - is a constant reminder of that.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is even, sturdy in his head, and it takes him a moment to realize that Derek is crouching in front of him now, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

Stiles manages to shake his head no at that, swallowing down a sob that's working it's way up his throat. He frantically wipes at his eyes before the tears have a chance to roll down his cheeks, but he's sure that Derek knows. He always _knows._

"What's wrong?" He asks, almost innocently, and _that's_ what kills Stiles.

Because one minute, Derek is just the broken little puppy that he met two years ago, depressed and trying to find a purpose after his sister died - after he lost the last _sane_ person in his family. And the next, Stiles is reminded that he isn't that person anymore. He hasn't been in a long time. He's a killer.

"You tried to _kill_ me," Stiles manages to rasp out when his breathing returns to something manageable.

"Stiles, I-" Derek stutters, "We were just kissing..."

"No," Stiles shakes his head back and forth. He's not stupid. Derek obviously hadn't been trying to kill him a few moments ago. But he had definitely reminded him of it. "_You tried to kill me_. And I was _kissing_ you."

Derek's eyes widen in realization at that, and then a look of horror takes its place on his face. "I didn't - I wasn't - _Shit._"

"Yeah," Stiles mutters.

"I'm sorry," Derek practically whimpers, head in his hands with realization that _he_ did this to Stiles. _He_ made him into this mess.

Stiles shakes his head at that, even though Derek can't see him, "It's my fault."

And _that_ breaks Derek's heart because even after everything that's happened - he tried to _kill_ Stiles, threatened him from a prison cell, then popped back into his life, begging him not to tell his dad, and now they were _making out_ - Stiles still blames himself. He blames himself, and it's not his fault at all. Derek knows that he's been toying with Stiles, and somehow the kid is _still_ blaming himself. _That_ kills Derek. "No it's not," Derek says softly, shaking his head. He goes to grab Stiles' hands for reassurance, but stops himself halfway because there's _no way_ that touching Stiles would fix things right now.

"_I_ did this to you," He says quietly. "I'm _so_ sorry, Stiles. I really am."

Stiles just sniffles in response, head still in his hands.

Derek stands at that, hand on Stiles shoulder for a brief, fleeting moment. "I'm going to make this right," He says, mostly to himself, though he knows that Stiles can hear by the way that he lifts his head up to look at him. "And then you never have to see me again."

* * *

Peter is waiting for Derek just inside the trees after he leaves Stiles' room and makes it past the two hunters still guarding the house. He shakes his head as Derek approaches, clapping him on the shoulder once he's close enough. "You've really got yourself in deep this time."

Derek sighs, "I know."

"You fucked him up."

"Thanks," Derek breaths, tone sarcastic, falling in step with him as they start walking away. "As if I couldn't already tell."

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Peter asks after a long silence, even pausing mid-step, a look of genuine concern etched on his face.

Derek chances a glance back at the house before turning back to his uncle. "I honestly don't know."

* * *

A safe distance away, just within earshot, Scott crouches behind a tree, listening to them.

* * *

**AN:** _Chapter title is from the song "Bones" by In Fear And Faith._

I really hope I did an okay job with this chapter. I've been toying with making this into something romantic from the beginning, and knew that if I did, I'd have to be extremely gentle with it. So I hope that this was okay, and I hope that I managed to give you a decent look into Stiles' and Derek's heads with this chapter.

There's only two left! I don't want it to be over yet!  
Thanks, everyone, for all of the lovely comments and reviews so far :]


	9. I Swear I'll Change

_**I Swear I'll Change**_

* * *

Derek keeps his word for the next week. Even when another alpha is found dead, dangerously close to the old Hale residence, a few days after Stiles' encounter with him, he doesn't hear from Derek. He half expects the werewolf to be waiting for him in his bedroom with more good news, but when he goes upstairs after studying with Scott - he's _still_ out of school - his room is empty. No signs of Derek.

He can't decide if that disappoints him or not.

Ever since his encounter with Derek, though, Stiles has been trying to find answers. Trying to find some reasonable explanation as to why he feels what he feels.

He should hate Derek. He should want him behind bars. He should be terrified of him. And sometimes, he is. When he finds himself sitting in his room, staring at the floor where he lay bleeding, dying, (which happens more often than he'd like to admit) he feels anger. He feels the hatred that he expects to feel. He wants Derek put away forever - to lock him up in a cage and forget that he ever existed.

But then, he finds himself thinking of the Derek he knew _before_ he found that journal. Before he knew about his past and all of the awful things he'd done. The little part of Derek that obviously _still_ considers Stiles pack, even after everything that's happened. The Derek that was just scared and lonely and socially awkward. The Derek that might have an anger problem sometimes, but it was just because he needed friends to talk to. Because he needed someone like Stiles. He can't hate that person. No matter how hard he tries, he can't.

Maybe there's just a thin line between love and hate.

The best explanation he can come up with is how some people must feel when they're in an abusive relationship. Stiles isn't sure how he finds himself on the Wikipedia page for _domestic violence_, but once he's there, he finds himself connecting with more of the descriptions than he should. For example, how the victims will sometimes think that it's _their _fault.

He can't help but think about sitting on the floor, telling Derek those exact words.

Or how abusers will feel remorse or sadness afterward, showering the victim with affection, or simply walking away from the situation.

_Derek_.

He knows that their _relationship_ (if that's what it's even called) isn't really normal. That they're not necessarily _dating_ or even together, but they were intimate, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. And Stiles' _did_ have feelings for Derek before everything happened, which might explain how easy he can forgive him...

He tries not to think about it, but it's like a little itch at the back of his mind. He tries not to scratch at it, even when a second body shows up, this time _in_ the Hale residence, _and didn't Derek say there were only three left_? That means there's only one to go. And then what? Derek just disappears?

Stiles sees his promise to himself - to tell his dad and put Derek back where he belongs after this is all over - disappearing with each passing day. There hasn't been a murder of a civilian in almost a month now, and it's thanks to _Derek_.

* * *

"We've got our last hunt tonight," Peter says, breaking the silence between him and Derek on a Friday evening, two weeks after Derek's last encounter with Stiles. He sits down next to Derek at the kitchen table and glances around his now barren apartment, taking it in. He can't deny that he's going to miss it - he's grown quite fond of living a somewhat _normal_ life - but Derek is right. They're going to need to leave after the alpha pack is taken care of. With no other threat for the police and the Argents to track down, all of their manpower is going to be put into searching for Derek, especially if Stiles decides to tell the Sheriff about everything.

"Don't call it that," Derek says, voice hard. He's staring down at his hands, refusing to look up, but Peter can tell that his body is rigid. Tense.

"Why not?" Peter asks as innocently as possible.

Derek sighs, "A _hunt_ suggests that he's a mindless animal."

"Well-"

"He's not," Derek says shortly before Peter can get a word in edgewise.

"But he's killed our _friends_, Derek. People we knew. If we don't stop him, he's going to kill _Stiles_, too," Peter says as softly as he can, given the subject. Derek has been off for the past few weeks, ever since he was at the Stilinski residence last, and though Peter knows _why_, he doesn't ask about it. He knows that Derek will refuse to talk about it, and though he doesn't necessarily agree with it, everyone has their own way of coping.

"I know," Derek sighs, leaning forward to run his hands through his hair, "I just wish there was another way."

"I know you do," Peter replies, "But this is the last one. And then the kid will be safe and _we_ can put all of this behind us, alright?"

Derek nods, even if it's a small one, "Alright."

Peter wants to tell him that it's okay - that it's normal for him to feel the way he does - but he keeps his mouth shut. He knows that Derek doesn't want to hear it, even if they _do_ have a lot in common.

When Peter looks at Derek, he sees himself only a few years ago, sitting in a wheelchair, trapped inside his own mind and dwelling on the past. When he had been strong enough to get up - to shift and become powerful again - he took it out on everyone that he could. Everyone that he thought deserved it. He killed anyone who had _anything_ to do with Kate Argent and the fire, without thinking twice about it. And to an extent, Derek had dealt with things in a very similar way.

So when Peter looks at Derek's face and sees the regret - the remorse for the awful things he's done - etched onto it, he knows exactly how he feels. He was there not long ago - in that same place, wondering how he could have let it go so far, killing innocent people just because some part of them reminded him of Kate Argent - trying to figure out when exactly he became a monster. And he knows that Derek will work it out. He just doesn't have to do it on his own.

Peter reaches forward to grab one of Derek's hands. "I know you're trying to figure out how to make things right," He says softly, and it's probably the nicest he's been to his nephew in a very long time, "But believe me when I say that _this_ is a good start."

Derek finally looks up at that, eyes sad, and nods.

* * *

It takes two whole weeks for Derek to show up in Stiles' bedroom again. If he's being honest, Stiles knew that it was going to happen eventually - that Derek probably wasn't going to keep his promise not to return - but he _is _surprised that he shows up so soon. He's retreating to his room after coming home late from Scott's house on Friday night, exhausted from training with him because _he wants to be on front line when he goes back to school on Monday, damn it_, so he doesn't even notice him at first. Instead, Stiles walks in his room, shuts the door behind himself and starts putting his lacrosse gear away before he notices the shadow that the lamp is casting across his wall.

He jumps at the sight at first, clutching at his chest, and Derek just remains motionless, standing on the other end of his room awkwardly. "Jesus Christ," Stiles mutters after gathering himself, "You could have said hi or something. I thought you were one of them." (Though he's not sure why _Derek_ is any better, but he ignores to voice in his head asking that.)

"Sorry," Derek manages, voice tight.

It's quiet for a long minute, Stiles staring at him, waiting for him to say something, and when he doesn't, Stiles caves. "So..." He says, cocking his head to the side a little, arms outstretched defensively, "Why are you here?" He wants to follow that up with _I thought you said I'd never see you again_, but decides against it. He can't decide if that's because it's too much - Derek still might snap - or if it would make him sound desperate, as if he _wanted_ him to come back. Stiles isn't even sure if he _did _want that or not, but that doesn't matter anymore because here Derek is, standing in front of him

Derek shakes his head after a moment, as if trying to make himself focus and Stiles tries hard not to read too much into it. "I uh... I just wanted to let you know that we took care of the problem. You don't have anything to worry about anymore."

Stiles wants to laugh. He wants to come back with some snarky comment about how he still has _plenty _to worry about, like the fact that Peter is somehow miraculously alive, or how there's a fugitive (who tried to _kill_ him) standing in his room, or maybe the fact that for _some reason_ that he can't quite figure out yet, he still hasn't told his father about either of those things.

And apparently he _does _say those out loud - or Derek is just good at reading him, which he wouldn't be surprised - because he's looking at Stiles thoughtfully for a moment before asking, "Why haven't you told him?"

"What?" Stiles manages, voice barely above a whisper but he knows that Derek can hear him, even if he hasn't moved from his spot across the room.

"Your father, why haven't you told him?" He repeats, genuinely curious.

_No idea_, Stiles wants to say. _You tell me, because I'm still trying to figure it out, too._

Instead, he manages a shrug, "You were the only one actually solving the problem."

"But in the beginning," Derek pushes, as if it's not the answer he wanted.

Before even thinking about it, Stiles quickly replies with, "Fear."

He watches as Derek's face falls for a split second, and he _knows _that it's not the answer that Derek was looking for. Even with his now stoic and brooding expression, Stiles can read him. He's known him long enough. Of course he can.

"Not the answer you were hoping for?" He asks, taking a step forward. When Derek doesn't say anything in response, Stiles closes the remaining of the large gap between them so he's only a couple of feet away from him. And when he studies Derek's face a little closer - especially the vulnerability in his eyes - he gets it. At least a little bit. "You want me to say it's because I trust you," He breaths out quietly. It's not a question, and he's not ridiculing him, he's just stating what he sees on Derek's face. "You've been trying to redeem yourself and you came here to see if you did... Even a little bit."

Derek doesn't say anything again, but by the way his lips tighten at Stiles' deduction, he knows that it's at least a little bit true. "Man... You just _had_ to make this complicated, didn't you?"

Derek clears his throat at that, straightening his posture, "Sorry, I should-" He doesn't finish speaking, however, because before he knows what he's doing or the full consequence of his action, Stiles is reaching forward, grabbing Derek's wrist, stopping him.

"I'm not ridiculing you, if that's what you think," Stiles says quickly. When Derek glances down to his wrist, where they're touching, Stiles drops it quickly. "I'm just... It's hard, alright?"

When Derek doesn't say anything in response, just stands there, waiting, Stiles goes on. "This would have been a hell of a lot easier if you had just been evil and scary all the way through," He half jokes, running his fingers through his hair nervously. It's apparent that Derek isn't going to say anything, so he continues. "I guess I'm a little fucked up, because any sane person would have ran to the police right away. But I was like that long before everything, anyway..."

"Stiles..." Derek starts, expression soft, as if he feels bad, and that does it for Stiles. With the apologizing and the saving his life and the kissing, Derek has made it obvious that he regrets what he did - that he wants to make it right - and though Stiles knows that he shouldn't believe him or trust him on that, he can't help it. Maybe he just wants to see the best in people. Maybe he's the victim in this whole unhealthy, violent relationship, but he can't help it.

He sighs, "Look, I'm not saying that I trust you... Not completely. I don't think I ever can. You know that..." Derek avoids his eyes at that comment, but Stiles knows that he understands. "But I believe you."

Derek finally looks up at him at that, head cocked a little to the side, "What?"

"I believe that you're trying to make things right," Stiles says, taking a step forward, "That you regret what you did, and you're trying to make up for it."

"But I can't. Not really," Derek finishes, finally understanding what Stiles is getting at.

And Stiles shakes his head, even though it pains him to do so, because the look on Derek's face is very convincing. "No. Not completely. I don't think I can really properly forgive you."

"I-"

"_But_," Stiles says quickly, cutting Derek off before he has a chance to say anything, "I can let you go. I won't tell my dad. Just... Get out of Beacon Hills. That's what you can do to make things right." Stiles chokes up a little bit at it, because Derek looks like a sad puppy but Stiles _knows_ what Derek has done, and he knows what has to be done. Either he has to tell his father and lock Derek back up, or he has to let him go in hopes that he won't go back to his old ways of coping. And part of him doesn't want to see Derek go, but he knows it's the only option.

It's in that moment that he finally decides. After weeks of struggling with himself whether or not to tell his father, and whether or not he's going insane or if he's stupid for believing Derek, he decides to let him go. He fights his most basic instinct to run away from danger or to call for help, and instead looks straight at Derek and whispers, "Please. Before I change my mind."

Derek actually look surprised at that, and before Stiles has a chance to think about it or stop him, he's surging forward, wrapping him in a hug. Stiles tenses instinctively, but once he realizes that it's harmless, he manages to relax, even if it's a little, enough to hug back slightly. "Thank you," Derek breaths as he pulls away, and Stiles manages a small smile back at him.

"Goodbye, Derek."

* * *

Derek is too preoccupied, thinking about what just happened in Stiles' room to notice that he's being watched as he carefully climbs out of his bedroom window. His head is still spinning, mind still struggling to wrap around the fact that Stiles _let him go_. That he trusted him enough to let him go. He's too distracted, thoughts racing, to notice the pair of gold eyes watching him from just behind the bushes, waiting.

Chris Argent's men - the hunters - are parked a few houses down, backs facing the Stilinski residence, and Derek only spares them a quick glance before dashing into the trees to meet Peter, who's still there, waiting patiently for him. "I take it by the look on your face that things went well?" Peter asks as the two of them start walking away.

Derek spares one last glance across the street before nodding. "Surprisingly."

"He's stronger than you give him credit for," Peter says, voice soft, "He'll be fine."

And Derek's not quite sure if hearing that breaks his heat a little or not. "I know."

"There's just a few things we need to pick up at the old house before we leave," Peter says, steering the conversation away from the subject of Stiles, sensing how it makes his nephew feel. "The car is parked down the road."

Derek nods, "And then we're gone?"

"And then we're gone," Peter confirms.

Both of them are too focused to notice the rustling of leaves a few yards back, or the presence of someone following them, eavesdropping. It isn't until they fall into silence, walking together, that the person tracking them stops and turns back, running back toward the road.

And when Scott emerges from the woods, it only takes him a second to decide between knocking on the Sheriff's door and telling him that his son has been harboring a fugitive, or running to the truck just a few houses down, keeping watch. He makes a mad dash for the truck, sparing one glance back at Stiles' bedroom window. As much as he trusts that his best friend thought he was doing the right thing, he can't live with letting a killer walk free. He can't turn the other cheek, knowing that after tonight, Derek will be long gone, possibly free to kill again. He can't take that chance, as much as he trusts and respects Stiles.

The hunter - Mike, if Scott remembers his name correctly - in the passenger seat jumps slightly when Scott slams into the side of their truck, before rolling down his window. "What do you want, kid?" He asks, voice harsh, obviously annoyed.

"You want to catch Derek Hale?" Scott asks, out of breath, looking between him and the driver.

"What do you think we're doing out here?" Mike asks in return, even throwing a smirk at him.

Scott rolls his eyes. "_Not_ catching Derek Hale."

The driver finally speaks up at that, eyes narrowed, "What are you getting at here, kid?"

"I know where he's going to be," Scott says quickly, "But we have to hurry or we're going to miss him."

The hunters share a glance before looking back at Scott. "You're sure?" The driver asks.

Scott nods frantically, "Positive."

The drive motions to Mike at that, and the door opens. Scott climbs in without being asked. "We should call Chris," The driver says as he starts the car.

"No time," Scott replies quickly as he buckles his seat belt, "We can call him _after _we catch Derek."

"Where to?" The driver asks at that, pulling away from the curb.

"The Hale residence."

* * *

**AN: **_Chapter Title is from the song "I Swear I'll Change" (acoustic) by Attack Attack!_

**AHHH one chapter left!**

Also, I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who's read this fic and commented and sent me wonderful messages. You guys are the reasons why I keep posting! I love you all.**  
**

Last chapter should be up within a week :]


	10. The Killer In Me

_**The Killer In Me**_

* * *

An hour after Derek leaves, Stiles is still sitting on his bed, head in his hands.

It's not that he's regretting his decision necessarily - things would have been _much_ more stressful and complicated had his father found out - but things just feel... Off. It's weird, knowing that a certain part of your life is over, door closed for good. It's weird, knowing that someone it gone from your life, most likely never to be seen again, even if that person did try to _kill_ you.

He stands in the exact spot that Derek had hugged him for a good ten minutes after he leaves through the window, just staring ahead, waiting for him to come back, but he doesn't. It isn't until then, that he realizes that things are really done. No more worrying about the alpha pack - the constant threat every time he goes somewhere alone. No more struggling to figure out _why_ he trusted Derek so much - why he didn't run to the police the second that the man who tried to _kill him_ showed up in his room. Things are finally _done._ He can go back to his normal life, hanging out with Scott, going to lacrosse practice, trying to convince Lydia to date him already...

Part of him isn't sure if he wants that or not, and he can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But either way, things are done. No going back.

So an hour after Derek leaves, Stiles is sitting on his bed, head in his hands, trying to sort everything out in his head. Trying to figure out why he feels longing for Derek - why he's wishing that he would have kissed him before he left. He's also toying with the idea of telling Scott that everything is done - that they have nothing to worry about - when his phone rings.

When he pulls it out of his pocket and sees Scott's name on the screen, he can't help but smile a little to himself. _Well that answers that question_. "Hey man, I was just about to call you," Stiles answers, sitting up a little straighter, as if Scott could see him through the phone. He puts on a mask, just like he has been for the past few months.

"Stiles?"

And then his breath catches in his throat. He pulls the phone away from his face to make sure that it really _was_ Scott calling him - and yup, there's his name - before putting it back to his ear. It's Scott's number, but the voice on the other line is most certainly _not _Scott's.

"D-Derek?" Stiles stutters out, heart racing now because _why does Derek have Scott's phone_?

"Stiles," He breaths out again on the other end, and if Stiles isn't mistaken, it actually sounds like his voice is a little shaken.

"What's going on?" Stiles asks quickly, mind jumping to conclusions, "Where's Scott? Is it the alpha pack? I thought you took care of them-"

"He's alright, he's here," Derek replies, voice empty, "Stiles, I need you to come."

"I want to talk to him," Stiles demands, now standing and pacing his room.

And on cue, Scott's voice is suddenly in his ear. "Stiles," He sounds panicked, "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I need you to get to Derek's, _please_."

"What's going on?" Stiles begins panicking too, at the sound of Scott's worried voice.

"Come to my house," Derek says, back on the line, "Hurry."

And then the line goes dead.

Stiles stands in shock for a moment in the middle of his room, phone in hand, before moving quickly, grabbing a coat and his car keys. He's about to leave his room, hand on his doorknob, when he looks back, eyes landing on his dresser, and time freezes. He's torn for a moment - he's not even sure if he really needs it and he sure as hell doesn't want to have to fire it - before he lets go, running to the dresser and opening the top drawer. His hands are shaking as he digs through clothes before landing on the cool metal. And his hands are shaking as he grabs the gun and heads out the door.

Thankfully, his father is already asleep, and though Stiles knows it's stupid - _what if he doesn't come back? What if something awful happens and his dad doesn't know where he is? - _he foregoes waking him up. He doesn't want to worry him more than he has to. Instead, he rushes out the front door, gun in hand, and to his jeep.

As he pulls away and begins driving - speeding - away from his house, Stiles realizes that the truck that's usually parked down the street (the hunters that Chris had hired to keep a watch on the house) is gone. That worries him even more.

And even though it's been over a year since he's made the drive - over a year since the last time he was at Derek's, that fateful day that he found the journal - he remembers exactly how to get there. He's on the home stretch, deep in the woods, in about half the usual time it takes him to get there. And when Stiles finally pulls into the clearing - when he's finally looking at that old house - his heart practically stops because there's a car out front, one he doesn't recognize, and next to it is that familiar truck.

_Oh, god..._

Stiles kills the engine and gets out of the car, gun heavy in his hand as he walks quietly up to the porch. His heart sinks even more when he shines his flashlight forward and realizes that the front door is hanging open. He has to take a few deep breaths before walking through.

"Derek?" He calls out quietly. He takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, even with the light of the flashlight, and listens for any movement. In that moment, he sort of wishes that he _was_ a werewolf. At least he'd be able to hear something - a breath, a movement, a heartbeat - _anything_.

When he doesn't hear anything, however, he takes his chances and ventures onward, flashlight and weapon raised. "Scott?" He tries calling, voice still low, for fear of whatever threat is in the house hearing him. He's assuming it's another werewolf, in which case it's probably heard him already, but oh well. Better safe than sorry, he supposes.

It isn't until he's in the living room that Stiles sees the first body. It's his foot that comes in contact with it first, and when he shines his light down at it, he drops it in surprise, even crying out at the realization of it, hand coming up to cover his mouth. After a long moment of staring blindly into the darkness, Stiles musters up enough courage to pick up the flashlight and shine it down at the body. He immediately recognizes it as one of Chris' men, torso torn open, and feels his chest tighten. Maybe he should have told his dad after all. He's not equipped to deal with this...

_So much for things being over..._

Stiles continues onward after taking a few deep breaths, hands shaking.

"Scott?" Stiles manages to call out again, voice timid and small, and this time, he gets a response.

It's just a throat clearing, but it causes Stiles to spin around, and then he almost regrets that he did. He must have missed them when he was staring at the body, because just inside the living room, off to the right, is Derek, and Scott is in his arms. Or well... More like, Scott is in his _grasp_.

Derek is half shifted when Stiles shines his light on him, claws and teeth out but face and the rest of his body the same and it sends a thrill of terror through Stiles' body because _that's how he looked when he tried to kill him._

Derek is holding Scott still, one arm across his chest and one across his throat and it looks like he's struggling not to do something stupid. Though judging by the _body_, he already did. Stiles swallows hard, immediately regretting letting Derek go. Regretting not telling his father the second that he showed up.

"What's going on?" Stiles manages to whisper, gun and flashlight still pointed straight ahead despite his shaking hands. It looks like Scott had been crying, but had long stopped before Stiles arrived, trying to put on a brave face.

"I'm an idiot," Scott manages to get out, voice small. Derek is apparently speechless, so he takes it upon himself to talk, "I should have come to you or your dad. I didn't... I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I'm sorry."

"_Derek_," Stiles says, taking a step forward, looking from his best friend to the man holding him, "_What is going on_?"

"I followed him here," Scott says, sniffling as if he's about to start crying again and that hits Stiles hard because he's _never_ seen Scott look so weak, in all of his time knowing him. "I was eavesdropping at your house earlier and I heard him say that he was leaving. I - I couldn't just _let the guy who tried to kill you_ leave. I just didn't know..." His voice wavers as he chokes back tears, "I'm sorry, Stiles."

And though he wants to respond to his best friend - wants to tell him that it's okay, that he forgives him - he can't because he's still staring at Derek, who hasn't even said one word yet. "_Derek_," He finally repeats, "I was talking to _you_. What's going on here?"

Derek takes a deep breath, eyes Still locked on Stiles, but doesn't say anything. And that's when Stiles snaps. "_Answer me!_" He screams, voice wavering, "I let you go, _I trusted you_, and now here you are, threatening my best friend and there's a body on the floor. _A body, Derek!_ How do you explain that?"

Derek looks away at that, as if looking at Stiles hurts him and finally answers. "I snapped."

It's only two words, but they make Stiles' heart sink because he _trusted_ Derek. He trusted him to do the right thing and leave. To do better than this. "_Why_?" He asks quietly.

Derek shakes his head, "If it would have just been Scott, it would have been different... But the hunters... They came in here. Attacked before we even had a chance to escape." He looks down to his right and Stiles follows his gaze, chest tightening when he sees another body, and then Peters, both lying on the floor. "They killed Peter."

"And then...?" Stiles asks, thought he already knows the answer.

"I snapped."

"Jesus..." Stiles mutters, running the hand with the flashlight through his hair, gun still pointing at them. "What did you expect me to _do_ when I got here, Derek?" He glances down at Scott's scared face then back up at him, "_He's my best friend."_

"_I know_," Derek breaths, looking down at Scott. He seems to have calmed a little, but he's still holding tight onto Scott, refusing to let him go.

"Scott didn't know..." Stiles manages, looking to his friend for help.

"I didn't," Scott assures, speaking for the first time in a while. His voice is still panicked. "I didn't know that they were going to come in here guns blazing like that. I thought we were just going to catch you and wait till the police showed up. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were, I promise." It's the first time that Stiles has seen his best friend ramble like that - terrified - and it kills him.

"You don't have to do this, Derek," Stiles says softly, taking a couple of steps forward, "He didn't know. Just let him go."

"I can't," Derek replies simply, and if Stiles didn't know any better, he'd say that he was on the verge of tears.

"Why not?"

Derek takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling - and _yup_ that's a move Stiles has used to stop himself from crying before, Derek is definitely trying not to cry - then their eyes meet again. "Because if I let him go, he'll tell your father. I can't keep running, Stiles. I can't rot in that cage. And I can't put you through that again."

"I won't tell him," Scott interjects, "I swear. Really." The plea reminds Stiles of his own, over a year ago, when he begged Derek not to kill him._ I'll give it back, I won't tell anyone. I'll forget I ever read it._

He ignores Scott's pleas because he knows that they're useless on Derek. Especially now. "Then why did you call me here?" He asks, lowering his weapon. He knows that Derek isn't going to attack, not now, and hopes that maybe it will help.

In return, Derek takes another deep breath, tightening his hold on Scott. "You have to end this."

"W-What?" Stiles manages to stutter out. He knows what he just heard, but he's hoping it was wrong, that Derek didn't mean it, because...

"You need to put an end to it," Derek answers, shaking him out of his thoughts and confirming his fears, "You need to stop me. I _tried_, Stiles. I tried to be good, but I can't. I deserve this."

"Derek..." He mutters out. Part of him can't believe that he actually feels sorry for him - the man holding his friend hostage in front of him, who just killed two people - but then again, he's not surprised; not after everything that's happened between the two of them.

"I tried to make things right," Derek continues, voice trembling. And _that_ breaks Stiles' heart, because in all the time he's known Derek, he's never seen him so vulnerable. "I tried, I really did, but_ this_..." He looks around the room, "I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did, and it _can't_ happen again."

"So you want me to kill you," Stiles says, voice numb. It's not a question. He knows very well what Derek is asking of him, he just needs to hear it. He needs the confirmation to know that he's not going crazy. If he's being honest, he kind of always foresaw it ending this way - it's kind of poetic, really - but he had been too stubborn to accept it. In a way, he still is. He still refuses to raise his weapon again, even though it's heavy in his hands, and he still refuses to believe it until Derek _says_ it.

"Yes."

Stiles looks away, unable to match Derek's gaze. Not with the weight that's just been placed on his shoulders. "Why me?" He manages to mutter out.

"It has to be you," Derek replies, as if the answer is clear as day, "It's _always_ been you."

"You can't just _say _that," Stiles spits, looking back at him. _It's not fair. _Stiles isn't a killer. His dad was wrong, he could never be a cop. He wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility of taking another life. It's too much. Especially Derek's. "_Why me_?" He repeats, voice cracking.

"It just has to be," Derek replies, voice pleading, "_Please _Stiles. For me." And Stiles is sure that Scott has a lot of unanswered questions right now. The main one probably being about the bond that the two of them share. The bond that Stiles isn't even sure how to explain.

"Just let him go," Stiles begs, "And I'll let you go."

Derek shakes his head, tightening his grip on Scott again, "I can't do that to you. I can't let you live with that guilt. What happens if I kill again? You'll hear about it and you'll never be able to live with yourself, knowing that you let me go. You need to end it. _Now_."

Stiles can't deny that argument, because he knows it's true. It was what he had been wondering about in his room earlier, but back then, he had been convinced that Derek had changed for the better. "How can you expect me to do that?" He finally asks, eyes bearing into Derek's.

"Because I'm _asking_ you to," Derek replies simply, and that strikes something hard in Stiles, because Derek _knows_. He _knows_ the hold he has on Stiles. He knows that, even after all of the awful things he's done, if he asks something of Stiles, he'll do it. It's manipulative and fucked up and Stiles should _hate_ Derek for using him that that, but he still can't. Even _now_ he can't.

"That's bullshit Derek!" Stiles yells, his voice echoing through the empty house, "That's not fair!"

Derek looks away again, avoiding Stiles angry eyes, which only fuels the fire. He knows what he's doing, and he can't even look him in the eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. I wish there was another way..."

"Derek-"

He shakes his head, "After everything I've put you through, you deserve to be the one to end it. _Please_." And _there's _the sad, self-loathing Derek Hale that Stiles knows...

"I can't," He replies, voice catching in his throat even as he still grips tight onto the gun.

"Yes you can," Derek argues, "You're stronger than you think."

"Derek..." Stiles pleads one last time, trying to find an alternative solution. Though it had been easy for Derek, over a year ago, to thrust his hand forward into Stiles' flesh with the intention of taking his life, it's not so easy for Stiles. Even knowing all of the horrible things that Derek has done - the things he's capable of doing - Stiles can't bring himself to even _think_ about doing it. Even while Derek has his best friend in his arms, claws out, Stiles still can't do it.

"Stiles, please," Derek begs, and he _knows_ in that moment that there isn't another option. Derek Hale - the man who was prepared to kill him just for the sake of self preservation - is standing in front of him, on the verge of tears, begging Stiles to end his life. It's in that moment that, no matter how much he may argue, Stiles knows that there isn't any other way. There never was.

"It's the only way?" Stiles asks, voice wavering. He already knows the answer, but he has to ask.

"Stiles-" Scott's voice breaks the silence for the first time in a while, eyes pleading. He doesn't want his best friend to have to go through with it. Even with Derek holding him, threatening his life, Stiles can tell that Scott doesn't want him to do it. He knows that it will break him, even without knowing the extent of Stiles and Derek's relationship.

"It's the only way," Derek confirms.

"But…" Stiles tries, one last ditch effort to change his mind. It's useless.

"I forgive you," Derek says, voice soft. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he looks up at Stiles, and he tries his best to shoot him a reassuring smile, "Please, just… Do it."

Stiles nods, attempting to swallow down the lump in his throat. His hands are shaking as he cocks the gun. "Let him go first," He says, nodding at Scott.

Derek nods, loosening his grip and letting Scott tumble forward. Scott takes a few hesitant steps toward Stiles. "You don't have to," He says softly, hands raised as if to take the gun from Stiles, "I won't tell anyone. We can say that Peter killed them-"

"_Do it!_" Derek yells, cutting Scott's sentence short. His teeth and claws are out again, eyes red.

"Derek..." Stiles pleads one last time, though he knows it's useless. He can feel the tears forming in his eyes, the sob catching in his throat.

"Stiles, Please!" Derek roars, voice desperate.

Then he's closing his eyes tight and pulling the trigger.

Within seconds of doing it - within seconds of Derek slumping to the floor - Stiles is dropping both the gun and the flashlight to the floor and lunging forward. Scott attempts to stop him, arms outstretched and catching Stiles as he tries to run to Derek, but he's met by Stiles fists, frantically punching at his arms and back. "Let me go!" He pleads, trying to push through Scott's superhuman strength, "_Please_, let me go."

And Scott either realizes that Stiles needs the closure or can't bear the pain in his best friend's voice anymore because he's letting go of Stiles at that, allowing him for fall forward onto the ground, crawling the rest of the way to Derek's slumped form, against the wall.

"Derek," Stiles murmurs once he's close enough. Without even thinking about it, he puts his arms underneath Derek's body, hoisting him upward. Derek winces in pain as he does so, and when Stiles looks down, he knows exactly why. The bullet pierced through his lower chest, just under his ribs, and the front of Derek's shirt is already soaked with blood. "Tell me what to do," He rushes out, panicked, "We can take the wolf's bane out of the bullet and fix you like last time. We can fix it, _right_?"

"The last one was just in my - _ah_ - arm," Derek replies, wincing at Stiles moving beneath him, "It's alright, Stiles. It'll be over quick."

"Don't _say_ that," Stiles pleads. He can feel the tears streaking down his own face, and if someone would have told him even a week ago, that he'd be crying over _Derek Hale_, he would have called them crazy. "We can fix this..."

Derek shakes his head, eyes closed tight in pain as he does so, "No."

"Derek..."

"Just go," Derek murmurs, eyes still closed, waiting for Stiles to leave him to die.

Stiles shakes his head frantically at that, even though Derek can't see him. Even now, Derek somehow still can't understand how someone could care for him. Even now, he waits for Stiles to leave him alone to die, and that breaks Stiles' heart. "I'm staying with you," He says softly. _It's the least I can do._

Derek's eyes open at that, and Stiles is surprised to see that they're their natural color. Not red. "You're stronger than I was."

Stiles knows exactly what he's talking about - when he was laying on his bedroom floor, Derek standing over him, prepared to leave him to die alone - and closes his eyes, "Don't."

"We'll have matching scars now," Derek half-jokes, smiling up at Stiles, and that does it. Before he can even register what he's doing, Stiles is surging forward, pressing his lips hard onto Derek's. He doesn't kiss back right away, but when he does it's soft, unlike the last time they kissed. Gentle. Understanding.

Stiles doesn't care if Scott sees. He doesn't care if his best friend thinks he's crazy or stupid or gone insane, because if it's the last chance he has to do it, Stiles is going to give in. The past month of trying to reign in his emotions - struggling to figure out why he feels for Derek - all comes out in the kiss as he pulls them close together, gripping tight onto Derek's hair.

"I'm sorry," Derek breaths, once they finally pull apart, voice ragged. Their foreheads are pressed hard together - Derek is burning up, now - lips just barely brushing Stiles' as he speaks. Stiles can feel the blood soaking through the front of his shirt from where they're pressed together, but he can't bring himself to look - can't bring himself to pull away from him. Not now. Instead he keeps his forehead pressed into Derek's, eyes shut tight.

"_I forgive you, Derek_."

* * *

**AN:  
_  
_**_So, I've got a little dilemma here, and hopefully you guys can help me out.  
Originally, this was **supposed** to be the last chapter. And I still don't mind ending the fic this way, because I feel like it's really come full circle and I don't want to cheapen it by writing or adding anything more, BUT (because I'm a weak little baby and can't bear to write a sad ending) I **do** have a draft an epilogue written, and I can post it if you guys want it.  
I'd like to hear your opinions on the matter, though, because once again, I don't want to cheapen the end by adding more. If and when I do post the epilogue, it won't be part of this fic (it'll probably just be a standalone or something) in case there are any of you who **wouldn't** want to read it._

**So... Opinions? Do you want to see the Epilogue?**

Also, THANK YOU ALL FOR THE LOVELY REVIEWS ON THIS FIC. It's honestly been my favorite thing to write and I'm really proud of it, so I'm really glad you all like it, too! Thank you!

_The Chapter title is from "Disarm" by The Smashing Pumpkins._


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